Willa T. Olivier
Need Of A Depressive - Poem by Willa T. Olivier
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.
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