Carolyn Ford Witt
I Am, crawling in the basement
Of a house so-called depression,
Cannot lift myself from under
This Rock of non-expression.
Just lingering in the darkness,
Not a candle in the way
And now I lie here motionless
Into another day.
No feelings in my body,
No thoughts to fill my mind;
For if I cannot awake from this
My fate is now resigned.
There lurking in the darkness
Is one who summons me.
The man who holds the sickle
Does now call out in glee.
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
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Comments about this poem (-DEPRESSION- by Carolyn Ford Witt )
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