Depression Poem by Tom Billsborough

A tense present is the present test
Of our cognition of current dates, events,
And people of distinction.
And if we fail to recognize
The past tense, that dusty library of memories
Comes under scrutiny.
How many books remain?
How many taken out and not replaced?
How soon an empty room,
A functionless space?
How soon to face that old nightmare
Sense of hollowness and ultimate depression.
Where I possess only the tense future
With the muffled bell ringing
"Will I breathe tomorrow? "
When I view the future of another
I sit alone and nurture
A deep sorrow as my songs fail to flower
And I feel there's nothing more to say,
As though dark clouds had cast the sun away.