The Wounded Sky

No birds or angels fly
across the wounded sky
storm clouds holding onto years
of unshed tears
clothe the sky in swirling grey
the edges fray
tearing a hole in the dark membrane
a spreading stain
of sunlight pools upon the ground
hope is found
struggling up on tattered wings
it sweetly sings

Inspired by

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The cold sun streaming down

the-cold-sun-streaming-down

wrapped all around in winter wind

tears of ice upon my face

the cold sun streaming down

dresses me in flowing lace

a cry escapes upon my breath

my frosty lashes glisten

in the cold sun streaming down

there is no one there to listen

lonely is my frozen heart

alone always I stand

and the cold sun streaming down

falls pale upon my shadowed land

 

Words

Words have lost their voices
they no longer speak for me
I thought they were my friends
I thought I could rely on them
but they have left me alone
I wander through blank pages
a tiny blot of ink
with no meaning
or purpose
overlooked
and silenced

Depression

what is this fearful restlessness?
sitting immobilized all day,
reading or writing
or just thinking
but my whole being
suffused by a feeling of
constant motion
and frustration
I can’t make myself get up
and do anything
I am waiting
for what? I do not know
can anything happen
that will break me out of this
agitated state of mind?
I wonder if this is my life now
has everything I used to love
gone forever?
day after day I wait for it to be
better tomorrow
but tomorrow never comes
and nothing changes
but my body
growing weak and soft
from inactivity
and panic rises
at the thought
of everything left undone.
In moments of clarity
when I can see beyond
the end of the sofa
I ask myself
how did I get so lost?