Like A Dove in the Night

Depression

Holding on to the edge,
a reflection appears – a mirror against the ground. 

Perhaps the difference lies in being able –
        rough fingers turned soft but remembering guitar strings –

to touch the reality, to feel the whisper of trees before a storm,
        to dig your nails in and refuse —
                biting and determined —


to accept.

The wind like sand flying through trees to the end of the pail, and there in the night

it's just you and the words and the deep hum of crickets harmonizing with the fan.


The air is biting away pieces of my soul,
dark and secret and completely exposed to the viciousness of the breeze.

        I plaster words like bandages over the caverns of my soul, but reality whips through, leaving vacant stretches of frayed fabric 

        and endless remembrance of what once was,

and I have nothing left to lose. 

~Hammeh