Ah! This cursed clinical depression. Dare call it blessed?!
Upon guilty or innocent it has no regard
Nor distinguishing age, gender, status or wealth
Never to meet a more formidable foe
Yet to the depths of human resilience it calls
Preparing for any trial and to dance upon the fury
Causing laughter at any other of life’s obstacles
Oh, sweet depression, when you broke down the soul's door,
And stole the very will to feel, the will to be
No! Know you are not alone
A friend offers a hand to hold the broken pieces
And let brother illness run the course and even heal
Against all resistance like the Grim Reaper face to face
Keep silent… calm… ever so still... trusting time as a friend
Lest fear discovers, its tauntings take effect
And torment even deeper and darker
Depression, what is your weapon?
Panic… impending doom… voiceless pain of a broken mind...
All these things pass away together with nature and body
But the Great Rebirth remains to melt them in the Refiner's Fire
And out of it all is found pure gold fashioning wonders
As the Excalibur from the stone, the Golden Branch from the wood
The soma from a long forgotten tree found once again
And a wilderness elephant tame for this battle towards
A victory keeping one meek like a true warrior trained
Gazing upon the clouds to kneel in gratitude for the anointing
Oh, Creator of the blue sky that one cannot feel... yet
Now, to remain; Now, to restore; Now, called and rising to be ready…
