Clouds flooding over head,
The color of angry purple,
Takes the joy out of play
And brings sadness to mind.
Days of such traumas
That brings back nightmares
Of dark and strange days
And loneliness unabridged.
Such ugly reminders
Of awful traumas.
Dark and terrible images
That are worrysome to the mind.
Wondering if the sun
Will ever shine again,
And bring a little light
To a tormented soul.
Depression that sits around,
And in, a lonely mind,
And keeps whittling ever more
At the center of things.
Wandering down corridors
Of circling and fuzy blackness;
Dreams that turn dark
And full of dangerous walls.
Closing doors slamming shut,
And hearing whimpering dementia.
Hoping to find a helping hand,
That seems out of reach.
Feelings of such blankness
And everything exiled,
Gives forth some terrible
Something lurking behind there.
Waking up is so hard to do;
Feeling as if stuck a century or two.
With eyes slowing opening,
This black dream finally ends.
Images tend to linger tho,
As some seem to do.
No matter that the sun does shine,
Some nightmares stay on their own.
by Jann Newland
(copyright - Oct. 2003)
