Thursday, March 2, 2023

The "Un" of it All

 


The “Un” is trying to get me.

The un-motivated,

the un-happy,

the un-resolved,

the un of it all.

 

Fat fingers of depression,

trying to curl their

way around my neck,

to choke me with devious glee,

un-satisfied with the present.

 

The face of depression,

hidden in unlit corridors;

unfazed by the unrelenting

lengthening of Sunny days,

and potentials to come.

 

Unforgivable in its haunting

of my always tired mind,

unashamed of the torment

its cracking knuckles cause,

as they echo through my head.

 

Undaunted, I fight against

this creeping and unwelcome

pall of sadness, ever present

enemy, of the most unpopular

kind.

 

I’m steeled,

but rusty,

unsatisfied with my defenses,

unabashedly awkward in my

sword-play.

 

The “Un”.

The unrepentant depression,

swirling around my head,

like Emily Dickinson’s fly,

in her ear as she died.

 

Uncalled for violence,

unpolished blade,

dulled, unsharpened,

in the shaking hands

of depression.

 


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