Shadows - 2/9/05 2005 Archive - 2006 Archive

Depression is a nasty neighbor and a cruel companion. Being near it brings threatening storm clouds. A comedian once described it as “anger without enthusiasm”—laughing to keep from crying, I suspect. I have observed it as a chemical short-circuit that seeks to suffocate hope.

Stealth is the method of choice
time the creeping medium
through which darkness stalks
the heart of innocence.

Expectation is excuse
life’s premeditated resentment
bearing blankets of burden
each one a smidgen heavier than the last.

What might have been, is no longer,
what should have been, won’t;
bling-bling from unexamined distance
shines like tomorrow’s pyrite.

Comparing reality’s magnified myopia
self’s reflection feeds doubt;
soul’s hungering turns on itself
gnawing at the walls of hope.

Manners, politeness, demand
unquestioning allegiance, stiff upper lip;
God is completely off limits
screaming anger turns inward.

Energy for life itself becomes a casualty,
enthusiasm a smothered memory;
no one listens for cries anymore,
tears evaporate into the abyss.

Release is offered only in flinging darkness
toward last remembered light;
passion’s first sparks are fanned
in honest engagement with divine.

© 2004 Todd Jenkins