Solitude and Depression often share your company but you remain alone.
Soulitude
In a place called Soul-litude
lies a world of its own making
with no doors or windows
and one individual sits
amidst the remnants of memories
of what is was to feel the sun
and run naked through the woods
fingers laced together
mouths emitting laughter
in stereo tinkles
replaying the kisses
the intimate moments
cobwebbed and yet
dusted off daily
on the shelves of memoreis
Sorrow weaves solitude
in faded celluloid pictures
on a film strip that
replays over and over again
Mistakes build chains
that hold one down
allowing minimal movement
age like mold
creeps ever onward
eating away at
the fabric of hope.
Work is a mainstay
creative impulses drive the
heart to recreate
some forms of beauty
deadlines criss cross
the room preventing
dances and leaps of faith
so the mind unfolds
and from the creases pour
liquid thoughts
that flow and soothe
and break tiny pinholes
in other rooms of Soul-litude
bringing light
to eyes long rimmed with tears
between the piles of things
that must be done
without
slipping in the mold
there lie spaces yet to be filled
and when time permits
fingers scrabble to write
lighter verses in the bleakness
all that goes out brightens the world
and darkens the chamber within
many rely on the outpouring of art
seeking to free more
without knowing the cost
soul-itude
built by choices made and chains
linked from paths taken long before.
Depression is a psuedo-friend
who pats you on the leg so hard
that it cripples you....hope is a crutch
that helps you get around in spite of it...
love is a balm that can heal and yet
the scars from other healings that failed,
can bring depression round again
for another pat answer....
