from the mist
a gleam of silver emerged
and then a scarred
and faded shield
they came by the thousands
as unstoppable
as the sand running
out my hourglass
and I rejoiced
for the enemy seen
a battle to fight
to engage
to die with my boots
on
my enemy
worthy
brave
giving my son
the honor
of a history
worn high
5 comments:
an ode to those fighting depression (inspired by Tyler Hamilton's admission) and the desire to fight an enemy seen, of which depression is not
the poem turns sarcastic at the end. depression is a real illness, seemingly, only appreciated by those who have suffered at the hands of an enemy not seen, especially not seen by those on the outside. part of this poem is a tribute to David Foster Wallace, a literary genius, who committed suicide this year after going off his meds. he was one year older than me. DFW suffered from depression his whole adult life. in reading various posts about his suicide, I was struck by how many showed no compassion for his disease, his torment and his eventual suicide--a death often seen as cowardly, especially when associated with that most ignoble of phantom dieseases--depression.
mercy to the stricken. compassion to all.
Comment Option #1:Okay, I just read your comment on your post and now my comment mood has changed.
BUT, I just wrote out the Comment Option #2 and I really, really like it.
So, I came up with this option idea.
Depression.
It frailing sucks.
It frailing sucks a lot.
I have had a loved one in my life come close to no longer being with me as a result of a suicide attempt. I don't know what I would have done had he succeeded. I can't even begin to tell you what I went through that night, knowing he had left for work, and then getting the call that he had never shown up. It was pure Hell. I had more conversations with whatever God is up there that night than I have ever had in my whole life. Even thinking about it now, I cry.
This was a long time ago. He was young. Around 22 at the time. He's 35 now, and all around a pretty positive person. I think he learned a lot about himself back then and maybe had insight into what it is he really needed out of life, in general.
Me? I don't think about ending it when I'm depressed. I just go and write incessantly long posts on my blog until it passes.
=P
My blog is my medication.
It works. Usually.
I'm pretty lucky, I think.
I'm a lucky bastard to be a fucking Blogger.
Yes, yes I am.
And, now back to my original comment.
Comment Option #2--pre-reading of your comment on your post:Is it me, or is there some MAJOR O'Keefe action going on in that image...
It's probably just me.
It's been awhile....
Speaking of it being too long...I have to make my way through this new stuff you have going on over here...and of course...all the 'Flirtatious Happenings'....
...LOVIN' that.
Always have, always will.
xoxo, Tree Man
Strumper, no one comments like you. Your comments are like a signature, uniquely you and a delight and joy to read. You know The Hood would be proud! I'll make sure he knows. :-D
You know what I like most about you Stumper? You are a fucking blogger and you know how to blog like a fucking blogger's blogger. And now, I'm having this incredible urge to go spend some time in the dairy section of the grocery store. :-D
You fucking RAWK Strumper! Only real butter for you. :-D
and a few of these:
:-D
:-D
:-D
The poems are very good. Thanks for including me in the inner circle. I've always been surprised by what a welcoming and kind place the blogosphere is, so learning that all is not friendly makes me sad - yet, it was somewhat inevitable that some creeps would try to ruin everything.
Victoria, thanks for the kind words. 99.9% of everyone I've met blogging have been friends I would want for life. I do have compassion for those who know not what they do, although my patience wears thin at times. :-D
So nice to see you stopping by Victoria. Hope those horses of yours are still bringing much joy to your life. :-)
Post a Comment