deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Concave Mirror
If I could take those words
Of "sadness" and "stress" and "anxiety"
Compress them tightly into a solid,
Small, black rock of depression
Place it on the spoon
Light a small flame from beneath it
To see it heat up
With the steam of hope
And inhale deeply its fumes
Giving me the eurphic jolt
Of wonder and excitement
That life is suddenly fun
Full of opportunity, void of responsibility
The vivid colors of magenta and cyan
Casting its purple haze
As my skin dances to the vibrations
All that is alive within my head
Is alive on this Earth
Without future worry or past regret
I am elated that I can do it all
Anything right now
Everything is already done
And theres nothing I need to do
High on nothing but Doubt
My feet still firmly resting on the coffee table
The mailbox is full of unopened bills
The sink is full of unwashed dishes
The floor is full of unkept debris from the weeks before.
The bed of redemption is empty
Waiting for me
From the depressed lines of a curled up boy
Wounded from life
Where I can take its place
And wait
.... for what?
Of "sadness" and "stress" and "anxiety"
Compress them tightly into a solid,
Small, black rock of depression
Place it on the spoon
Light a small flame from beneath it
To see it heat up
With the steam of hope
And inhale deeply its fumes
Giving me the eurphic jolt
Of wonder and excitement
That life is suddenly fun
Full of opportunity, void of responsibility
The vivid colors of magenta and cyan
Casting its purple haze
As my skin dances to the vibrations
All that is alive within my head
Is alive on this Earth
Without future worry or past regret
I am elated that I can do it all
Anything right now
Everything is already done
And theres nothing I need to do
High on nothing but Doubt
My feet still firmly resting on the coffee table
The mailbox is full of unopened bills
The sink is full of unwashed dishes
The floor is full of unkept debris from the weeks before.
The bed of redemption is empty
Waiting for me
From the depressed lines of a curled up boy
Wounded from life
Where I can take its place
And wait
.... for what?
Published 27th Oct 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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29th Oct 2017 00:44am
These types of writings are so difficult for me because I don't suffer from depression. While I can sympathize with what it must be like, I can't attribute experience to it.
That being said, I have suffered bouts of periodic sadness over the loss of loved ones and various changes throughout my Life. And while I was wounded but not slain, I laid me down to bleed awhile, before getting up to fight again.
I think it's okay to allow the dishes to pile and the bed to remain unmade. I think it's the pressure and expectation from others to " get over it " and perform that demonsrates a lack of understanding and a major contribution to the overall feeling of dis ease by those suffering from such feelings.
So forgo the mail and bleed awhile. And when you feel like trying again, take it one room at a time. . .and realize there is no time limit to recovery.
Your poem expresses perfectly what many fail to comprehend
That being said, I have suffered bouts of periodic sadness over the loss of loved ones and various changes throughout my Life. And while I was wounded but not slain, I laid me down to bleed awhile, before getting up to fight again.
I think it's okay to allow the dishes to pile and the bed to remain unmade. I think it's the pressure and expectation from others to " get over it " and perform that demonsrates a lack of understanding and a major contribution to the overall feeling of dis ease by those suffering from such feelings.
So forgo the mail and bleed awhile. And when you feel like trying again, take it one room at a time. . .and realize there is no time limit to recovery.
Your poem expresses perfectly what many fail to comprehend
