Poetry on Sadness and Depression

The evening mist,
The leaden sky,
The formless void,
The wailing cry,
The chilling hand
Of Apathy,
The cold stone floor,
The stormy sea,
The starless night
That crowds the soul,
An empty stomach
And empty bowls.
The saddened music
The child sings
The heavy heart
that sadness brings.
The solemn mourners
Dressed in black,
The desolate weeds
In sidewalk cracks.
The stoic faces
Every day,
They're all just different
Shades of grey.
But even in these
Shadowed hours,
We still can see
The brilliant flowers.
The aged thrush
Has yet to sing,
And who knows what
Tomorrow may bring?

Deadlight
4/4/98

The bees filled the halls
and swarmed the dead light
of the flourescent bulbs,
away from the invading moonlight,
as we stepped over the coils
of the inky shadows
that slid away like black water,
leaving the cracked yellow linoleum dry.
The serpents coalesced in the corners
and threatened with crimson fangs and
scarlet eyes and a hiss of
rustling dead leaves.
And the glass rattled with
a sarcastic laugh as the iron locks
held against our furious assaults,
and the raven outside tapped a rhythm on the
windows as you changed your socks
again, and I scratched my keys
on the blackboard in perfect harmony
with the wail of the swarm in the hall.

Flawed
2/19/98

I stood with my friend
on a white cliff
gazing down at the city
that sparkled in the night like a diamond,
and I couldn’t tell where the city ended
and where the stars began.
But my friend could, and I heard him sigh.
He pointed then to the shimmering jewel below,
and in a quiet voice he said
"It’s flawed."

Snow
3/12/98

I walked through the white snow
with my head down.
I felt the bitter cold slide
through holes in my shoes
like an invading army.
A fleeting thought,
like a falling icicle,
drove hard into my brain.
"I should care that there are those
With more holes in their shoes
Than I."
Then the icicle shattered,
And I thought only of getting
out of the cold.

True Story
Summer 1998

I once had a life,
Based on a true story,
or so they say.
But who are they to say?

I once had a dream,
proud and foolish,
Until it crumbled away.
Like a low-fat chocolate cake.

I once had a love,
Pure as a mountain stream,
But it ran on private property.
Who needs love anyway?

I once had a hope,
Like a touching movie
With no audience.
Two thumbs down.

Who needs life?
Who needs dreams?
Who needs love?
Who needs hope?

I do.

Lucky me.

I am falling.

Around me, the mist, grey and formless,
Comforting in its apathy.
Above me, the night sky, dark and brilliant,
Shining its black light on those who would live.
Below me, the abyss, oppressive and hungry,
Yet alluring with its promise of serenity.
Within me, the vibrant soul, striving and seeking,
A flame within the void, shielded by the body.

I stand surrounded, seeking the way, but
The thorns are sharp, glistening with their poison gift.
The barren earth rejects the desperate pleas,
The path is barred . . .
Still I struggle, bleeding and gasping,
Feeling the icy hands that rise out of the ground,
grasping and clutching.
Pulling down, down, towards the abyss . . .

The wind is cold but the will is strong,
The soul surges as I carry on, burning
With stubborn determination as I find the way.
The razor thorns of pride and insecurity still bite,
But the spirit is unchanged, raging
with a luminous intensity. I am not perfect,
but I know what I am. A blazing inferno within
a tough shell. I am me.

Fear
2/19/98

A realm of fear
A ring of flame
A cringing rose
A thorn of pain
A poisoned gate
A shadowed hall
A challenged fate
A graceless fall
An icy heart
A stoic shell
A frightened glimpse
Of darkened Hell
A tearful cry
Is what you'll find
Within my dark
And dreary mind.

First Prize
Summer 1998

My pretty pictures hang on my walls,
the efforts of my wasted years.
But though I try
and strain and cry
None can see I’ve mixed my soul
Into my painted tears.

My ribbons won at useless fairs
For colors warm and happy tones
have left me worn,
inside I’m torn
By hypocrites who nod and stare
At perfect pictures of their own.

The paintings that they like to see
Depict a world of love and joy
But they all know
The lies we sow
Grow into sick and fearful trees
That thrive on hate and hurtful noise.

My "loving" parents encouraged me
To be their luscious, slender rose.
A flower clipped,
. . . a cut, a snip . . .
The fragile leaves conceal the screams.
The petals hide the hurtful blows.

A china doll with ceramic skin,
A little girl whom all adored,
Beneath the white
that they all like
There lies the emptiness within
The shattered soul, the darkened core.

A child grown, a woman fair,
A cultured rose, the family pride,
But eyes of blue
Are cold and cruel
And gorgeous skin and stunning hair
Can’t mask the anorexic stride.

And so in spite I take my brush
To paint my greatest masterpiece.
The color’s right,
The perfect light . . .
I take my time, there is no rush.
I know this time they’ll notice me.

I’ll hang this work inside my room
Among the rest, of which they’re proud.
A stunning sight
In black and white . . .
. . . around the lips, perhaps some blue?
And darkness for the subtle shroud.

And art shall imitate life, you’ll see,
And of course, the other way ‘round, I’m sure.
They’ll be surprised
To see my prize
Hanging from my ceiling beam,
Dangling my feet above the floor.

Valentine
2/12/98

The Day of Hearts is here again,
Alas my love is gone!
She will not find her Valentine,
And I am all alone.

Years ago we traded gifts
To celebrate our love:
A card, some flowers, a chocolate kiss,
And intimations of

A feeling that we both believed
Would never fade away,
And our two hearts as one would beat
Until our dying day.

I fondly think upon those times
That seem to me like dreams.
Yet every detail in my mind
Is crystal clear, it seems.

And when I feel the loneliness
And melancholy woe
Of life without your perfectness
I know that I must go

And get the jar I’ve hidden well
Atop a pantry shelf,
And take it to where I can dwell
Upon it by myself.

I feel as if we’re not apart,
As if you’re still with me.
I watch your dark and broken heart
And wait for it to beat.