Depression

when roses pined
through one’s prides

reins posed

with prone sides

the posse in red knows

sin reposed
beckons id response

spores dine upon minds
I send ropes

apprised of my prison seed

 its roof-collapsed den is prose

long where the iron seeds lungs

do sloe rods seep in

folly of fools
whose resolve erodes pins 

at seer’s pond, i yet wander

watch, but one person dies
on a dulled doss repine

ever-present

with poise
’tis a lone sniper’s ode

 

3 Replies to “”

  1. depression’s cavity caves deeper and deeper into the abyss of all that is unknown, onforseen and unforsaken. After 15 years I’m finally feeling a little better, does that give any hope? I hope so. The poem as usual is beautiful.

    Like

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