Depression Is A Reality

A frozen state of mind,

clear headed

yet,

stone-walled by fear.

 

When they speak of racing thoughts,

it seems fruitless

trying to slow down that progression,

instead the eyes close.

 

While the strength of depression

wreaks havoc upon vulnerability

the body waits,

an eventual light goes on.

 

Symptomatic to asking

reality to step aside,

while in the moment the struggle

remains the only …

 

So, we fight,

our bodies eventually

find a way

to step off the merry-go-round.

 

As simple as that might seem,

the revolution will never careen.

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What Rally Cry

Standing alone,

choosing alone,

no dial tone,

seems the last moments

will bend forever

the opportunity

to glance ahead,

beyond the scrutiny

deeply laid inside the victim’s head.

 

and then …

 

There is the question of whose hurt

is more measurable,

the choice,

or the outcome,

the afterward,

or perhaps it is the originator,

who by virtue of the human condition,

isn’t given any allowance

to return the favor of knowledge.

 

We just know the outcome.

My First Experience With Survival

It was the summer of 72,

just beyond the previous winter,

I would stay home,

amongst my school friends,

chums, the guys I hung with

all school year.

 

Yet I didn’t know them,

because the 12 summers before,

when I began to remember,

around the age of four,

I’d spent elsewhere

in a different world,

a time zone whose style

didn’t match up

with the hometown crowd.

 

It was there I lost him,

imagine the imbalance in my mind,

a good friend

labeled my survivor guilt one time,

and I haven’t been able

to look past that ever since.

She gave a freedom

to realize life has reasons

and they’re not always mine.

 

So it is then that I reflect upon,

when today, I can barely breathe at all.

When Healthy Battles an Excuse

While it is surely our own decision

to find the cure for the ailing sentiment,

it is certainly our own decisive nature,

can find neutrality in forgiveness.

 

Might we choose to be forsaken,

mistake ridden, guilt driven,

… shame …

while the rest of the world motors on.

 

I once watched as my world walked away from me,

a simple turn of the corner,

and the park opened up to accept their energy,

leaving me to be the observer,

still wondering why yet knowing,

I could only answer rather than

cry.

 

There is little difference between

happiness and tragedy,

an emotional roller coaster

when appreciated,

we can ride throughout the night,

weather the storm,

and breathe in the rays of sunlight’s

everlasting energy.

 

We are so simply drawn,

by choosing either or,

that when it comes time to forget,

we simply remind, regret, respond

with memory of

the terrible times,

we wallow in the mire of our own remorse.

 

It is happiness,

and that is so valuable in our lives,

a normal saying

would suggest,

let happiness take on the battle,

and hope their is a safe place to land.

In Dark Corners

There are these manners,

they exist,

meant to offer some respite

for our inability to communicate.

 

Perhaps if in that sheltered

concrete, fabric, wall of deceit

we might discover some reason

to associate.

 

The honest gentleman in the corner,

holds a smile as genuine as love,

yet there is fear in the eyes

of anyone’s beholder.

 

While on a sunny afternoon,

a stroll appears to the eyes,

we can probably count on the

human conditions humor as wry.

 

I wonder about dark corners,

when fear emits its own suggestive tone,

how is it possible,

that I might feel compelled to hide.

The Obituary

I wonder how they felt it might read,

summing up their life,

in a nutshell,

passing through all of the bad times,

focus upon the good, the energy, the meaning,

the society we live in deems the necessary truths.

If we knew,

would we then change our mind,

if we could stand in the back of the church,

see the weeping eyes,

the countless expressions of confusion,

would we,

care.

 

I wonder what mine will say today,

as compared to years from now,

which would be more attractive,

the present reality

or that seeming legacy that time forgot,

only the pain did always remain,

a constant,

within even a moment of relief,

there would be the memory of how many times,

we might have,

he might have,

thought differently than to withstand

normalcy.

 

Oh the papers they might read,

and then in a week or two,

there his ashes would be spread.

I Cannot Move

I try

sometimes,

my energy propels me to a different place,

a satisfying luxury,

less common than I’d like to be,

yet it always happen,

the current,

the arms and hands and legs and

the talons

always seem to covet me,

without asking I might suggest, maintain, incite,

a certain flavor of dependency,

speaks to my purpose,

and it’s there I begin to play with

lunacy.

I wonder sometimes,

if it would be that easy,

lose my mind, become homeless, live in a street,

I wonder if I would worry quite as much as I do today,

when it seems I walk right past

the mirror.