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The Black Dog Of Depression

Rating: 5.0
Scattered papers lie
Across the floor, as the moon
Swells like a gland in
The night's throat. Time seems to flow
As slowly, but not
So sweetly, as molasses.
It tends to leave a
Bitter taste in my parched mouth.
Nothing illuminates.
The light of the troubled mind
Is cold, blue and black.
Time is falling on its knees.
Thursday, June 18, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: depression
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COMMENTS
Shaun Cronick 18 June 2020
Nicely penned about the not so nice. Churchill suffered greatly from it and I believe he coined the phrase. A most thought provoking piece Dominic.10++ and keep writing such varied poetry themes. And thank you for this.
2 0 Reply

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