By Mike Adams
I sit here with my head in hand
wondering where my life has gone
what things of glory have I done
what deeds of might and honor
but all I do is sit here in the dark
and lament the wasted years
of depression and of darkness
darkness that I can not let go
for it is all I know.
Even when the light comes in
I block it out, hide it away
from my eyes, for the darkness
is my only comfort.
The light does not feel right
joy escapes of my own twisted choice.
Why can I not accept the joy
and light and live a happy life
why must I torment my self so
for when things are bad, I am comfort
and when they are good, I feel uneasy
uneasy that it will be taken away
cruelly, like so many things in life
by a parent, a bully or just God
I know not, just that this has
to end, this life of darkness
of lost love and promises unmade
born was I to do great things
but I have squandered them away
like so much sand, thru fingers
that can not hold my head up
into the light, for the light
comes so quick, and then it is
snatched away, so I deny it
before it can be stolen away
is my claim. I know not,
just that help is not here,
but depression is so close
but held at bay for now
so in the end, what can I say
it is better than I was once
for I am active in finding
work, to replace the one I
so rudely lost of my own
stupidity and nature given
away.