Depression desperately looks for the exits
from the sweat of our nightmares.
You entered our fear driven world
and sweat blood of understanding
as you stayed, all in, the flesh of our circumstances.
Proving that you can resurrect us from the terror of our troubles.
There is a secret staircase I
spiral down, when the front
stairs feel too exposed. In
the darkness of fledgling hours
I retreat. Tracing your love notes
with heart, soul, and mind. Sipping
the earthy tea of you testaments. Conversing
together like old friends. Turning over to you all that
I am.
Allowing sunrise to color in the black and white outline
of your form. Loving because you first loved me.
Some punctuate life with a consistent and steady .
Some complete their lives bungee jumping with expression !
Others leave us guessing at their purpose  ?
But you went out with a ;
An incomplete sentence that can  no longer be edited.
.
The problem with a note left behind?
Your unique handwriting betrays your existence matters.
When the cup we pass around
the table
grows cold with tears
and our empty
souls only know moldy bread, you came.
Pouring sweet water, forever bubbling generously over the sides
of our limits.
and bread from the banquet table of your papa, the king.
Grief is two lovers yanking you in opposite directions.
The Past, pulls out his photo albums showing off his plump family of memories. Inviting you to warm yourself by the faded fires of yesterday; still snapping and popping in your mind, until you realize that you are freezing to death . . . And the Future sucks you into a black hole of regret, threatening to crush you over and over with what will never happen.
Get to know the Present, he is your daily companion. He walks beside you and sustains you; pulling the curtains closed on yesterday and introducing you to new brilliant mornings. He holds you tight as you sob, and reveals the unknown in quantities you can handle. He will always be here with you, while the Past never stays, and the Future may never come.
The house shivers and sighs, naked bones exposed.
Groaning against gentle breezes, wishing to collapse,
but the skeleton stubbornly holds.
Sunken eyes devoid
of life stare out, judging the
world who so cruelly neglected intended purpose.
White picket fence, the last defense from
decay, remains locked tight,
taunting passersby’s with KEEP OUT
-as if anyone wants to COME IN.
But, the weary WELCOMEÂ mat still invites
us in . . . if we triple-dog-dare
to know the ghost of who you once could be.
Dog-eared smile tucked in
the green pocket of my heart.
–Courage sent from home.
Walking through nature is like climbing into the
lap of God for story time.
When I listen, I am reborn.
Provision!
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/