Treasure Island

Carolyn Ford Witt

(1943 / Indiana USA)



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
Ms. Caroline

Submitted: Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Edited: Monday, March 11, 2013

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Comments about this poem (-DEPRESSION- by Carolyn Ford Witt )

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  • Angel OfGod (10/20/2009 8:33:00 PM)

    I can truly enjoy a poem when it embodies my own darkness and fears. This one was very well versed also. Thank you for sharing it with me. (Report) Reply

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