Archives for posts with tag: depression

Melancholy’s Baby

I was a glimmering remnant,
a moon sliver she clung to
in the dark void.

I was all that remained
of her innocence and hope,
of her diaphanous love
seeping through the disrepair
of everything that mattered,
though in the end
it altered nothing—
a useless ether.

I was a bookmark,
a singular point
of goodness and perfection
along a fading timeline
well-worn and stained
with tears and wine.

Every investment in her
tenuous future
seemed to sit squarely
on my shoulders
as I marched—
some heroic ambassador
for her desperate country,
even as she secretly entertained
thoughts of self-exile.

Claire Juno, © 2012

 

…dedicated to my mother

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Dis-integrated

He spirals down like a leaf,
disconnected from all sustenance,
destined for the ground.

There is no fighting it now,
his body gliding effortlessly
through the night air
which shifts just enough
to soften the inevitability
of his fall.

Little by little, whatever he used to be
drops away, in resignation to his descent.

His form is a stranger now
to anyone who might be
looking for him under bridges,
or by the river.

This coming undone
is without witness, lost in a sea
with nameless others who share his fate
on an otherwise ordinary Thursday.

Something numbs him
as he slowly slips; an ironic gift
in his torment, like a pane of glass
before his trembling hands,
allowing him to see the world
as though it were his own,
though tonight it lies
cruelly beyond his reach.

Claire Juno, © 2014

…written with compassion for the struggle so many face with depression,
and with love for my brother, who is trying again to survive the undertow.
May God be with the nameless and the known tonight.

Homeostasis

The clean room returns
to a comfortable mess,
the dishes return to the sink;
the visions of future plans
fall back to the dismal present
when I take enough time to think.

The rabbit gets back to procreating,
the skunk gets back to its stink;
the hopes of vindication
fade into these four walls
when I take enough time to think.

The wanderer keeps on wandering,
the liar crafts new lies;
when I think I’m progressing
I see only deprivations
each morning I open my eyes.

Claire Juno, © 2013

…dedicated to someone who struggles tonight.