The
landscape withered in the encouraging darkness until an absence of light was
all there was to be found. The stillness and the silence matched the mood that
was materializing in my mind. I sat down amid the debris I had wandered into
and thought on the refuse of my life. Every day had been an effort to
accomplish something so purposeful that it gave real meaning to my existence,
but there has never been a plan of action, nothing to point to and say, “This I
have done.”
And now there is no ease, the struggle
remains. The activity has turned into one of pure survival....
I started writing this, but now I’m
baking Nestle chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night while snacking
on the dough cause that’s what poets do. We indulge the flesh, seek pleasure
and find our purpose in entertainment while the pen strokes the canvas of a
blank page as an outlet for our torment.
I do feel my depression trying to come
back, the 30 pounds I’ve lost are returning home as I empty several cans of
beer each day. Everyone else is holding court with their dreams right now while
I swim toward the dawn with my pen and paper....
in the
darkness you cannot see
the
world is wet with wallabies
***
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