Existential Depression

July 25, 2017 § Leave a comment

An acquiline nose set below sharp eyes
That appreciate beauty,
Had once spotted innocence.
He hailed it in regret
Long after it was gone
For now the mark of life
Marred the eyes.

The young oft so unjustly judged
Are as yet untainted by life.
They populate my house now and again
So sweetly unaware of their innate goodness.

A beloved once said,
“We can’t be that anymore
No one would credit it.
For as we get older
We get more wicked.”

Living does stain the soul, I suppose.
It swings through shades of grey
Terrified and drawn by black and
Awed and scared of white
Journey of the soul forged in fire
The embers of which form the grey.


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