Self Island

About depression

Bereft of any anchor, slowly I sink
Into the deep morass, the abysmal tide of me.
Facing all that I have been and all that I am,
Forlornly stretching a solitary hand, I yearn to be.

Reaching out to you, to truth, to love, to anyone -
Before fingers touch, my hand closes to abstain.
I wonder why no one can break through
The thickest walls of preventive pain.

Small chinks in false armor dent in and grow
To crack the stifling dense shield -
Accepting demon and beast that lives within,
Choosing to let human angel Life to wield.

The walls come down
The armor breaks
My heart opens wide -

And Fear, the chiefest Devil of them all, attacks my core once again.

Prevented my own heart-killing doubt,
Deafened by mind's self-denying shout,
My Soul still fiercely burns free.