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Depression
Sometimes my mind feels confined in this body I can't escape
And when I try to spread my wings and fly I find my head won't elevate
I hate the light that shines upon my reflection and the image it projects, so I stay away from sharp objects cause I must protect myself from myself
I seek temporary comfort in the smoke which fills my lungs
I exhale all the evil the fumes burned within
Momentarily I've taken flight on a journey of the thought
But once the dream is over, heavy is my heart
Reality has me deathly ill, and still, here I am
After all the rage and horror, I continue to stand
Golly Maria, its all out there in this one, isn't it? Reality does abuse our child within, too often. There they are, reaching out innocently, for simple comfort, recognition, and affection, their small hands grasping stars, and nothing touches them as they implore. I spent my life working with little ones, and their overtures desserve all the grace and gentleness we can give them.
Too many men have not been taught this deep lesson of the heart. I will keep your offerings within.... Promise. I'm an old guy, but it doesn't matter.
Miami. One of my favorite authors, Carl Hiaasen, lives nearby. If you've access, get his story "Striptease" with Demi Moore. It is extraordinary and a fine look at Florida as idea.
This is a good poem...I can relate alot...