Depression Poem by martin elbin

this cold dark night is spread across
our sight and lives and starlit tossed
seeps into multi-layered clothes
that stretch across our frozen backs
but finds such grace and peace wrapped up
in frosty, crispy, dewless black.

collecting sighs and views above
beyond the highest trees no trove
of harvested remembrances of love
that rake across our memories
but even sad times still recall some
blown by the winds on which they freeze.

draft up, draft down the icy wind
drift back in time our lives in mind
cold, cold are histories, not kind
that slip by days unaided-lost
but always adding to the whole
experienced, and felt and tossed.

such are confusing days and nights
coloring our memories' flights
of fancy, chancy are the heights
from passion's burning wanderlust
yet never far from each lost day
and shading moments as they must.

come, kill the minutes out of hand
across the scarred and melted land
burned in by steps aloft and grand
without the thoughts of wizened souls
to guide the hand of past deceipt
through mazes made of misty goals.

drugged and stoned then lurch ahead
and stagger forward with the dead
to nowhere leap, where none have led
while loosing track of living breath
once held in hand and hand with them
lock step, lock step in time with death.

winds are the pattern for the lives
that draft and float and cut like knives
in darkness questionings that drive
us on. and next days forward looking views
seem sad extracting each ones pain are nothing more
than banks of emptiness collecting dusty dues.