Posted in drama, My Poetry, Writing

Desperate Times

My dreams are incomplete
In this acute depression,
The burning blows of hate
Strike me in quick succession.

My joys are hidden far;
I do not see salvation.
My spirit and my mind
Are lacking inspiration.

My life is circumscribed
By chains of ostentation.
The image of my soul
Is blinded by elation,
Which in itself is false —
A demon’s smart disguise.
The shadows fly around,
Obscuring paradise
And urging me to leave
All that I love and cherish.
I hope the sunrise makes
These ghastly shadows perish.

I hope a rain of stars
Burns down their hellish lair.
I hope the moon returns,
And with its healing flare,
I’ll find another path
That leads out of depression
To those who’ll listen to
My desperate confession…

But when will that day come,
When will my dreams recover?
Or is there nothing more
For my soul to discover?

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Author:

Absolutely fantastic procrastinator. Creative, often irrational, hyperactive. Reader, writer, artist, photographer, film-maker, gamer.

3 thoughts on “Desperate Times

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