Desperate Depressions

familiar aches enter into my quiet solitude,

anew with feelings upturned and imaginings forsaken.

Hope can be but a futile dreamers flight of fancy,

and dreams but wisps of smoke upon the wind.

The moment is where we live,

and into the next forever forming,

new moments intense and familiar,

exit, me.

Stage left,

into that dark desperation of depression,

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Cari Albury's picture

I like this. Very simple and descriptive and sort of sweet.