Winston Churchill called his depression his black dog. Here's a similar metaphor.

Black water days

Shaky today.
Not angst, not that, not yet
But I can feel it lurking in the corners

Fragile today.
One push and I would break
with sharp-edged snapping sounds like cracks in ice

On days like this my eyes are at my feet
Don't want to see the people that I meet
The world belongs to everyone but me
They are all normal, clean, untainted, free

What are these days? What substance are they made of?
What alchemy of feelings brings them here?
What unlocked backdoor lets them slither in
to make my strength dissolve into this fear?

And will I, someday, travel far enough
Rise high enough that they can never find me
Or will they always stay here, ready to blind me
Stalking my shadow just one step behind me

Black water at the edges of my vision
Black water lying in wait for my submission
I hope for more days where the water's low
For these black water days go by so slow

Poetry by Princess Charles
Read 612 times
Written on 2010-02-01 at 11:08

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Brian Oarr
You've got a borderline sockdolager of a write here, held back only by that question riddled 4th stanza. All those questions are merely a copout IMO. Com'on Princess! You're the poet, and not a bad one either, but you shirk your responsibility to your audience. We don't want hypothetical questions --- we demand you tell us what is, poet!

That said, I enjoyed reading this piece very much.

--- Brian

Language: 4
Format: 4
Mood: 5
Overall: 4

melanie sue
Yes, this is an excellent piece. You have captured the essence of depression and its deep felt impact and transferred it the reader. This definately jars the memory of my own black water days. Very well done. I was feeling a little sad myself, just dipping in my own black water pond, and now I feel even sadder.

ngaio Beck
Fantastic.So that's how I've been feeling. You read my mind.Excellent piece of work.Hope in your case it's allegory.