mental – A Poet's Pen

Left Behind

Depression: an absence of hope, filled with apathy, sitting in an empty house devoid of any colors

or windows

or doors.

Sometimes I can hear a low rumbling drone, like a constant flow moving away from me,

but I can’t place it.

I can’t decipher or understand what this sound is, or where it is going,

but I want to go with it.

On the other side of these walls I know there are roads with people and noise.

I know, because I used to be a part of it

When the Sun left my mind at peace–

So tell me…

When was I left behind in an empty, noiseless city?

Words are lost in translation and

my mind is a blur of yes and no and run,

but I wait for someone to step out of this blur

and say something that sounds like a warm greeting–

a hello from quiet mornings and coffee–

but my thoughts are too light for the harsh reality that claims my fate,

and I can’t run away

from a present perfect destruction that waits in the corners of every room–

every hidden space that makes a piece of the puzzle that was never meant to be there.

It was never meant to fit where

I wanted to place it.

I wasn’t meant for building concrete things.

I was meant for discreet passage ways

In tunnels that have no space for answers.