This is a poem that I wrote because my wife battles depression.
|A battered, broken lantern hung
on a rusted nail at the door,
that leads to cunning passages,
contrived corridors and more.
Through many places on the house
made by rickety, rotten boards,
you could see the images of my life
in a heap upon the floor.
By the ripple of a heartbeat
death's dream kingdom bids you come,
to the circles of the stormy deep
so utterly real to some.
This house in arboreal gloom
brings total reminiscence,
the twisted, calloused, ugly truth
that people keep their distance.
This is life so very real
each sentiment is true.
Depression's grip is never gone,
it's merely hidden from you.