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The burden buried underneath
is still until it breaks the sheath
when loosed the dagger digs so deep,
into this long and lasting sleep.
All spark is dark and lost to light
as now surrounded without sight
the sleep of dreamless sleep denied-
when steeped too deep I have complied.

I seek no bleak and empty pit,
in fact, I'm free to flee from it,
yet here to fear I must succumb;
add to this path of wrath the hum
that calls my all to hide inside
the darkest center of my pride,
which not consigned or realigned
is desolate and dark entwined.

Awareness lost, so sad the cost,
my mind I find is being tossed
without a doubt it cannot think
as dead eyes stare into the brink.
Depression has me by the throat
while stealing every note I wrote,
throughout my head, upon this bed,
to write, with sight, the things I said.

But sadness saturates my all,
how deep and desolate my fall
that so enshrined my muted mind-
a putrid pit where I lay blind.
My will alone will free me not,
while I was seeking I was sought,
then fell into this well of hell,
yet live to tell this tale I tell.

Learn more about this author, Tom Mcmurray.
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