Laissez-Faire Despair
I measure my state of depression by the books I am able to read,
when it becomes impossible to enjoy any hilarious romp by Terry
Pratchett, when Ecclesiastes and Proverbs are the only reading
material with any relevance - my mental gyroscope has come to
a standstill
As noise irritates me more and pressure is forcing me out of my
head and all I want is darkness, silence and death, it is time to
take drastic steps to feel better again, as I waft about in a smell
of Vicks VapoRub and swallow coloured pills by the handful
hour after hour
And start to hate and despise all forms of consciousness and life,
seeking the meaning of existence as opposed to happy non-being,
it is time to visit a quack to obtain poisonous concoctions and life-
shortening toxins to take the seasonal discomfort away, to stop
the disease
Which leads straight to the nihilism of laissez-faire despair
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Die Or Fly
Dangerous Reality TV ‘Hoarders' - people
collecting trash till drowning in houses like
garbage dumps made me feel I have to get
rid of my papers and books, life's useless;
at least I tidied my cupboard
Books read yesterday led to nihilism, wilful
acceptance of mental handcuffs unsettling,
self-declared intention to take free-thinkers
hostage, ‘Feet of Clay': Discworld religious
groups calling Golems an abomination
Just as Internet clergy reject codes in Bible; I
respect their right to self-righteously despise
anything they cannot comprehend - as long
as I never get to meet them, determined to
flee all causes of depression
Reading newspapers a disaster except when
Adapt Or Die becomes Adapt Or Fly, I had
to smile - we are adapting still and shall not
Die or Fly at political behest!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Depression is...
Depression is when you hate everyone around
Depression is when you don't want to make a sound
Depression is when all you want to do is cry
Depression is when you feel like you’re dying inside
Depression is when your thoughts wonder all the time
Depression is when you can't sleep even though you’re tired
Depression is when you don't want to go on
Depression is when you can't stop shaking outside
Depression is when you hide who you are
Depression is when you put on a mask to hide what you feel
Depression is when you feel weak all the time
Depression is when you give in to everything around
Depression is when you don't care what happens anymore
Depression is just another day in my life
poem by Celeste Alvear
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Depression Is When
depression is when you hate everyone around
depression is when you don't want to make a sound
depression is when all you want to do is cry
depression is when you feel like you’re dying inside
depression is when your thoughts wonder all the time
depression is when you can't sleep even though you’re tired
depression is when you don't want to go on
depression is when you can't stop shaking outside
depression is when you hide who you are
depression is when you put on a mask to hide what you feel
depression is when you feel weak all the time
depression is when you give in to everything around
depression is when you don't care what happens anymore
depression is just another day in my life
poem by Tashi Coote
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my DEPRESSION
depression is when you hate everyone around
depression is when you don't want to make a sound
depression is when all you want to do is cry
depression is when you feel like you’re dying inside
depression is when your thoughts wonder all the time
depression is when you can't sleep even though you’re tired
depression is when you don't want to go on
depression is when you can't stop shaking outside
depression is when you hide who you are
depression is when you put on a mask to hide what you feel
depression is when you feel weak all the time
depression is when you give in to everything around
depression is when you don't care what happens anymore
depression is just another day in my life that will forever remain
poem by Kaliaha Hogue
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Despair Is Darkness
DESPAIR IS DARKNESS
Despair is darkness-
Despair is death inside and death in the world and death in one’s own sad soul-
Despair is no way out -
Despair is the place where one is forever stuck -
Despair is the realization that one has done what one could – and one is not going anywhere else-
Despair is the admission of failure-
Despair is no sign of help anywhere around-
Despair is so much lost-
Despair is one‘s life is over-
Despair is regret-
Despair is the sense that one will never have the time to have another chance -
Despair is ‘it’s finished’-
Despair is no way out-
Despair is going down and more down and more dark and more afraid all the time -
Despair is the scream which hurts and does not stop the hurting -
Despair is the understanding that even Death will not save one -
Despair is that the pain will never end-not even with death.
Despair is no way out again and again and again- without end.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Experience The Divine - Best Gift
Maria von Trapp complained
she couldn’t stop singing and
saying everything that comes
into her mind, in tribute to his
favourite flibbertigibbet
Pratchett invented the Chattering
Order of Saint Beryl Articulatus with
Sister Loquacious and Sister Voluble
who were free to be quiet for one hour
on Thursdays only
Pratchett’s causal narrative makes
redress for all past injustice, fills me
with inspiration to visualise the office
as a Chattering Convent and to project
the holiday resort
Which we are going to visit as a corner
of unsullied paradise and YOU as the
best gift the universe could ever provide,
thank you for every moment of time
you spend
It is the highest compliment and when you
polish uneven lines, you do the work of
angels and change my consciousness
into an experience of the Divine…
Good Omens – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
Corgi edition published 1991, pp 33,36,38, & 41
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Depression! ! !
Depression...One of the worst emotions you can feel.
Your body would feel so empty and cold inside when it happens.
Your mind start to bring up the good memories that you had but it makes you feel more awful in the same time. Depression is one of the emotions I feel sometimes. No more anger building inside my body. No more sadness as my tears goes down my face. It’s only depression itself that drives people to doing bad things. It leads to self inflicting pain. It leads to suffering of thinking over and over and over again about something that made you depressed in the first place. Then it leads to...Death a fool's choice to escape it not knowing the consequences that leads ahead.
I can't believe that depression hit my heart.
As my heart thickens with its spread of Sadness, Anger, Fear, Sorrow and Death.
As this poem ends, just remember that never let depression cloud your choices in life.
poem by Compton Wright
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In hour of darkness, I remember you
In hour of darkness,
I remember you
And the darkness of my life quickly flutters away
In hour of happiness,
I remember you
And the happiness comes much more
In hour of difficulty,
I remember you
And my faith goes stronger
In hour of death,
I remember you
And I breathe my last with a smile
In hour of losing courage
I remember you
And I become more confident
In hour of failure,
I remember you
And my failure turns into success due to you
In hour of seeking you
I don’t remember you
Because you are in me and I am in you
poem by Pushkar Bisht
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Suicide & Depression Of My Life.
Suicide. Is a big part of my daily income.
Suicide. Made My docter give me those drugs.
Suicide. Makes My life hole.
Suicide. I dont know any better.
Suicide. Theres no life for me with shelter.
Suicide. Can i ever be happy.?
Suicide. I push myself away from loving another.
Depression. Has made me a horrible person.
Depression. Pushed me away from the ones i needed.
Depression. Made me a bad person., as though im told.
Depression. Was caused by this thing called Shizophrenia.
Depression. Is something im told i will have to live with for the rest of my life.
Depression. Please, please. Help me. I want to get out.
Suicide. My wrists, they bleed more then enough.
Suicide. It hurts me, on inside and out.
Suicide. The day will come soon.
Suicide. Im over it, bring me a knife.
Suicide. This is hurting me so much.
Suicide. My hearts ripped apart.
Suicide. Dont worry this wont be the end.
Suicide. I will see you again.
Suicide. I love you, and that will never change.
Suicide. This isnt your fault.
Suicide. So goodbye to you, i love you, goodnight.
Suicide. Dont let me ruin your life.
*READ* To everyone who read this, this is pretty much what i have to feel each day, i have mental health problems, and thats something i have to live with, im only young so i have learnt to grow with it. Please, to anyone who think about suicide, dont.. It not only hurts you, but hurts people around you, and iv learnt that along the way. So be happy with what you have, and the people you've got. And be glad you dont have a mental disorder and a disease. It hurts, so bad. =(
poem by Tegaana randomm
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Oh, My Dear Life! (Old Familiar Feelings)
OH Life! , tell me what to obtain:
Is there bliss in material?
Or joy in worldly attachment?
Where to begin my search, OH Life!
Is there dormant peace detachment?
OH! Life, tell me what to obtain?
What wisdom in silence of mouth?
What profound silence passed through time?
Tell me lust or love? flesh or seed?
Power, prowess, mansion and cars?
OH! Life, tell me how to obtain
eternal pure heart and peace of mind
Can one grasp the totality?
Can it all be had in one grab?
or is just you, oh my dear LIFE!
Oh! dear Life, YOU ARE ALL I ask.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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I Remember The Used
I remember the used,
The ones abused,
Beaten to depression,
Tears of pain,
Lost in confusion,
A world black of hate.
Crying tunes of hate,
The minds of the used,
Now filled with confusion,
Their lives abused,
A state of pain,
The chain of depression,
The memories of depression,
The faces of hate,
Weighed down by pain,
Beaten and used,
The ones abused,
lost in confusion.
The label of confusion,
On a plate of depression,
Given to those abused,
The planted seeds of hate,
A bush beaten and used,
The thorns of pain.
An orchestra of pain,
With notes of confusion,
A song called used,
Interments of depression,
Plays tunes of hate,
To those abused.
This me world abused,
My life a world of pain,
Memories of hate,
The smell of confusion,
The darkness of my depression,
A life used.
The path for the used and abused,
Confusion of those in depression,
The hate caused by pain.
poem by Eric Adams
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Pressure Point
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
I feel it in work, you know, I feel it in bed
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
I've paid all my bills and I've acted so well
Ain't been cheating, there's nothing to tell
So why all this pressure, I dont understand
I call on my neighbours, and lend them a hand
Doctor, oh doctor, I'm willing to learn
Well all of my bones, well they toss and they turn
Mother, oh mother, I'm begging you please
To rid me of madness and cure this disease
... (?) told you what I have become
With all of this pressure, my mind's on a run
... (?) changing, let's hope for the best
Maybe it's something to get off my chest
Doctor, oh doctor, I'm begging you please
To rid me of madness and cure this disease
Mother, oh mother, I'm willing to learn
Well all of my bones, well they toss and they turn
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
I feel it in work, you know, I feel it in bed
I can't get this pressure point out of my head
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
Pressure pressure pressure pressure...
song performed by by Zutons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Days of Depression
End seems so near of life
My breath has been nearly taken away
Meaning of life has been stolen
I am breaking apart with nothing left to say
I am draining out so soon
Feels as if world will end, very soon
Nobody, will care for me anymore
I will be left stranded between the four walls of darkness
If it ever happens, I will just die.
Since, the cage I have left forever
Now never I am looking back as otherwise I will get broken again
At least now hallucinations are less, even though I feel really low
It feels like darkness of depression will be taking over
Maybe it will and I am scared of it
Really, very scared of heavy days of depression
As the pain can hurt
The watery tears turn into colour red
Dark and bleeding is the sorrow
End can seem near, when such a darkness takes over
The meaning of life gets stolen
No energy remains and death comes nearer than ever
Death becomes the only option of life.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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A state of depression
Speak out my dear
Why hath thou in a state of depression?
Speak out my dear
I stand here waiting for thy confession
Depression is not a sign of weakness
Neither an indication of madness
I stand here not to judge you
Simply to take heed to what is true
Depression is not a crime
It only calls for love through time
Depression is a silent voice
Rooted deep inside to stop a crying noise
Speak out my dear
Why hath thou in a state of depression?
Speak out my dear
I stand here waiting for thy confession
What have you lost along the way?
Retrace your steps, I say
Who have you lost?
Take heart, everything in life must rust
What is it you want?
Grant me a permit in your hunt
But first of all let me be blunt
Condemn yourself not for your mistakes
That is what it takes for you to be awake
Life is meant to be messy and greasy
The road is not meant to be easy
Speak out my dear
Why hath thou in a state of depression?
Speak out my dear
I stand here as a friend
My compassionate heart is yours to lend
Merely to give you inspiration
And redeem you of your depression
Thus, speak out my dear!
Why hath thou in a state of depression?
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Pristine Beauty
The magic woven by Terry Pratchett in ‘Going
Postal' took my mind like a wave invading every
lonely space, filling me with a sense of delight
and the desire to keep on digging for meaning
Since I cannot be content with the mere fact that
I exist in the way Golems can, I have to assign
meaning to everything in order to prevent my
inner self turning from quiet and calm into
A raging torrent of existential dread and my spirit
from acquiring a waiflike quality, moving between
states of consciousness, too confused to choose
between moments of being to settle quietly
Long enough to enjoy the delight of existence as
escape from non-being, it took a while to drag my
mind away from a feeling of guilt about this holiday
and the concomitant fear that a short escape
From my robotic existence at the office might corrupt
my heart to develop a passionate longing for freedom;
confident enough to skip over disturbing passages on
Reacher Gilt, I hate his guts; loving the excellent mind
Pratchett assigns to Vetinari, sharing his trait of loving
ideas as principles: music as signet ideals, staves on
paper, notes safely ensconced thereon with no attempt
at execution to spoil its pristine beauty - just like him
I adore romance as an ethereal ideal formulated in en-
chanting writing but not any attempt at execution which
always falls short changing the idea into a hopeless
Don Quixotic longing for the impossible…
Going Postal - Terry Pratchett - Doubleday 2004
Quoted from p.78
************************************* *************
Painful And Joyous Reading
The library open, a miracle found several
titles interesting, normally everything seems
boring, I'm courageous enough to tackle ‘
Briar Rose' about the Second World War
And sisters fighting in ‘When She Was Good'
hoping to find insight into my relationship with
my twin sis, I'm ready to face abandonment in
Lynne Markham's ‘Getting It Right'
And two lives intertwined in ‘Faith, Hope and Ivy
June' - being adventurous I also bought two books
at second hand book shops - Graham Hancock's
Underworld - Flooded Kingdoms of the Ice Age -
Blazing trails where unconventional Colin Wilson
fears to tread, and ‘Mars Mystery' with its theme of
precession and the solar system orbit and carousel
movement about the Milky Way Galaxy's
Black Hole centre; hours of painful and joyous reading
before me - now I have entered the spirit of this holiday!
***************************************** **********
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Next Life
Some say that when your life comes to an end
a new life as a spirit you’ll forever spend.
The thought of this is really hard to believe,
so difficult to picture and perceive.
It doesn’t seem possible that one can live after death,
be without a beating heart and unable to take a breath.
No need for food and drink as a necessity to sustain,
no creative touch, no passion, no embrace, no pain.
Illness no longer exists, so no doctors are required,
no work to be done, so no pressure of being fired.
Personal hygiene has finished, no toilet or shower,
time has no meaning, so no need to chase the hour.
In spiritual form there will be no need for walking,
telepathy will be the only means of talking.
Materialistic items are unnecessary in any form
and no one can cause you physical harm.
With no roads, cars, houses, belongings, or money
a spiritual life doesn’t seem so pleasantly funny.
This way of life must be looked upon as a new birth
where one learns to live again for all that it’s worth.
What a shame that the Earthly senses are not required,
our touch, smell, and taste, will have all expired.
Emotional problems and stress won’t happen any more,
pride, jealousy, hate, and the rest are gone for sure.
This existence is in the form of a pure spiritual force,
a force that is complete in it’s entirety.
It surpasses that of the Earth bound physical form
making the impossible the norm for eternity.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Measure
are we measuring time
or is time measuring us?
how old is time? where is its
head and where's the tail?
its beginning if not the end?
does it go in a round or
in a straight path? does it
need space to realise
its own identity?
are we measuring time
or is time measuring us?
how old am i? where is the
head and tail of this state of
being, this consciousness?
is it longer than time? Is it as old
and large as the universe?
if everything becomes sterile
100 years on, earth will be
as quiet and red as mars
time as ever goes on, a
measure of the unviverse
will time be sleeping then
in the bossom of our consciousness?
or will we be sleeping in its bossom
instead, waiting to be resurrected,
a component of matter, of time?
a pendulum that goes to and fro,
to and fro, to help us get a grasp
of the universe and its workings
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Hot Ice
Life, the heat of the human
Breathe while you can
Life is waltzing by
Be all you want
Before the curtain closes
Touch the fire
Before the nerves go numb
Fear nothing
Life lives not in fear's clothing
Tap your feet
Play in the music
Beat your heart
Burn the fire
Dump the ashes
Ditch the past
Love love, hate hate
Incline your soul
The music's playing
Chase a frown with a smile
Drive the darkness with your spark
Mistakes happen
Give yourself a break
Dream today
The sun is shining
Tomorrow to thee never may rise
Do today
The moon is smiling
Tomorrow to thee ever may frown
Depression is treacherous
Run for your life
Let hurt go
Let love breathe
What are you doing?
Time weeps in waste
What have you done?
Time leaves in haste
Sing a song
Frogs sing too
Say a prayer
There is a God
Feel the pressure
Enjoy the heat
Listen to silence
Her wisdom is wise
Death, the chill of the human
The music's fading
Thunder bolts
Lightning strikes
Eyes blink once
And winter came
The ocean is frozen
The snow is ice
...and so are you.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Not This Time Will You Win
as the icy cold chill seems to jump down my spine
then yet up again back to my cooling heart that barley beats
no matter how hard I breath it stops for yet another second
or was that one two I cant tell any more
I smell the sour sent of my own body failing
though I’m not in pain I wish I could
I wish I could feel something other then cold and tired
not this time will you win
I shall be the one calling out victory not you
not this time
I see everyone crying please will you all stop crying
my dear husband don’t shed one more tear I can say I love you honey I really can see
I open my mouth but all that comes out of the dry and almost voiceless whole is a quiet mumble
similar to what a tired baby makes before learning to speak
Ethan my baby brother I hate seeing you cry please don’t cry
I love you so much I’m going to sleep but I’ll be up in an hour
I close my eyes as I drift off to sleep
I hear the two people I care about the most loose all of their control
a little less then an hour I feel my husband softly kiss my lips
then said I love you baby please wake up
then as I open my eyes I see the two people that I love more then my own life crying happy tears
Ethan is rushing to get the others the first thing that I say is
I told you I would be the one calling out victory not you
not this time death for this time you are the true loser not me
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Depression 1
depression is loving someone with nothing in return,
depression is slowly living instead of jumping head first,
depression is acknowledging the mistake but without learning,
depression is not trying, giving into your life's curse.
depression is cutting and cutting thinking you cant stop,
depression is staying quiet thinking no-one will care,
depression is floating around with the desire to drop,
depression is ignoring the people who always seem to be there.
depression is trying to end the life you've been given,
depression is watching other people watch you,
depression is giving up instead of being hard driven,
depression is depression, do you feel it too?
poem by Tashi Coote
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