The Malaise Theory of Depression
The lies we tell ourselves
tinted in private colors
create intricate maps, instructions
to hold us against our will
or better angels
upon a designated course.
They creep into our
chemical soup and wiring
thickening trickery
truth becoming shadow.
Rolling downhill so easily
scratches, contusions, bleeding wounds
unacknowledged in subterfuge
"It's such a beautiful summer day."
We say, etching out smiles,
even crinkles of the eye.
Alone, in the dark, troubling dreams
fail to dissipate at daybreak.
Rolling downhill, smashing into
hidden walls, jagged rock formations
Stop! Curl into pre-born refuge.
Listen to the angry words
"Surely I am cursed, a failure."
Never let the truth break through.
Ordered to protect the lies
as insidiously they poison
and blind us.
More easily led.
Less alive.
Stop! Look! Listen!
Feel!
Underneath the grave of lies
rich earth has secrets to reveal.
Radiant seed, planted in our birth
only we may bring to life,
if we dare move,
beyond the damage,
beyond the lies,
dancing with the shadows
into brighter days.
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