It crushes him and breaks him,
to the soil under his feet.
The Specter and the haunting,
that no one clearly sees.
It lacerates his rib cage,
and it takes his will to live.
It rapes his spirit of resiliency,
it crushes his limbs and hips.
It hobbles him and leaves him,
a catatonic shell.
He screams under the water,
in a drowning, tannic hell.
Hopelessness enshrouds him,
he cannot get away.
No strength to fight, or rise, or move,
this is his every day.
Thoughts on “Depression’s Gall”
Aside from the sculpture, Laocoön, The Dying Gaul is one of my favorites.
You can see the pain the warrior is enduring. You see the piercing in the warrior’s liver, possibly a coup de grâce?
You see the struggles of battle and the broken sword by his right hand.
I wanted to incorporate those feelings and emotions in my poem…
- How do I feel and those surviving through depression feel?
- What is the suffering like?
- What characterizes it for us?
Depression doesn’t care about its victims.
It chooses aimlessly and can strike at any time.
It is bold and impudent.
It. Has. Gall.