Often I write from a place of depression,
Exhaustion weighing down my soul,
At times unaware of my existence,
The Universe’s gravity pushing me onward.
Saddened by loss,
Grief overwhelms me at times,
Regret fills my cup,
And water turns to vinegar in my throat.
Mentally ill and losing my toolbox,
My hammer often hits screws,
While others around me steam ahead,
I get tossed off the cruise.
I saw an ocean,
A seagull flying low,
I heard a laugh and heart beat.
Today I am alive,
Glad to have found it,
That little happy thought,
But, unlike Pan I won’t fly away.
Today I must be the Pirate,
The old and graying man,
Taking responsibility in hand, or is it hook?
Listening as the clock counts down my time.
It isn’t for naught,
For everyone meets their maker,
Their nature judged,
I pray as the clock ticks, I’ll find redemption.