Coming down like a forty day flood,
depression’s bile is in my blood.
Hammering on my soul like thunder.
Ripping through my mind like lightning
with no sign of clear skies.

Fighting the feeling is useless,
for the storm moves on relentless.
I’m a drowning man going under.
I’m a shipwrecked soul surviving
with no glimpse of the golden shore.

But before I sink into the sea of sorrow,
I see the sun seeking my soul.
It’s distant warmth melts the horror
and depression begins to go.

The skies are clear as my soul ascends,
and my sanguine self is whole again.
Pounding through me like perfect pleasure.
Rising over fresh fields on new wings
with no portent of impending time.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

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