Despondency

Once, the image of you made me glad.
I, then, had something to dispell the sad.
Now it seems, all hope is gone,
for you, I know, have moved on.

It's over now, and yes, we're through,
but what I want to know is if this depression was caused by you.
Did it start somewhere from before we met,
or is it a sign that I love you yet?

Her face could aid, at least, that's how it seems.
The only problem is that it won't come clearly into mind.
So I'll sigh, and cry, but not unwind.
At least I can be happy in my dreams.

But so often, I lie awake.
This pain, this life, I just can't take.
Death would work, but I won't die.
I still can't turn my promise to a lie.

Corner after corner, turn after turn,
I go through life and each day burns.
Everything, all of it, just a daze of pain,
and it leaves me with no one - nothing - to blame.

I do what I can, I try what I may,
but nothing helps on days like today.
These words I've said emerged from my very soul.
This melancholy, it seems, seeps from the same hole.
As of yet, I know not what else to do,

so, for aid, I (in vain) try still to think of you.

-Jeffrey Grimm Blake, November 3, 1998