Need Of A Depressive Poem by Willa T. Olivier
Need Of A Depressive
My need is not for things of touch.
Not bread, nor sleep, nor wine,
For these are with me ever much -
I sleep, I sup, I dine.
And yet, not sated, still am reaching,
breath on breath for truer being;
for soulful nurture god beseeching.
I grope uncertain..... soul unseeing:
weak perception, numbing sense,
keeping joy from surging high,
making sorrow less intense.
I hunger, yet I do not cry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 10:26:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I think your poem points out that there are no answers regarding the depressive state. I look forward to reading more of your poetry.