A Black Dog Named Depression

The Black dog follows me; Down the dark lanes and pathways of the years; Over the wide, cold chasms in the night, With steady, even pace, I am pursued. I lift my torch, to survey the darkness all about; My hand is trembling, and my breath is short, Yet I hear the soft shuffle of his feet as he draws near. Black dog, where are you tonight? I hear a low growl from his throat, Why do you follow me? I scream and beat the air with my flame. I did not summon you. He recedes then circles round again, Circling, circling in the darkness. I cannot run, I cannot hide. He circles and comes round again, in slow advance. Sharp teeth glisten in the firelight; As he howls at the moon. Always just beyond my torchlight; Always there yet not in arms reach. Through the long years he follows; Hot breath lusting for my throat. Yellow eyes there in the blackness; Thirsting, thirsting for my soul. Howl, Black dog you'll never get me, Though we dance for a thousand mid-nights. I have a strength not of the darkness. I hear you howl at the moon.