These Depression Spring poems are examples of Spring poems about Depression. These are the best examples of Depression Spring poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth
I stand among the reeds in the basin
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
Written August 21, 2013
There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed
But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red
She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone
The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face
So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go
Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh
Maelstrom, O thou devil
Slither past last March then unto April
Into the eves and ides of May
Thou cannot hide, but thou wilt try
To disguise thy age old blackness
Forsake what once were brighter skies
Stranglehold; sane extraction
And the spills of night
A new tone deafness
Burning oil; sentiment molasses
Bringing storms that cloud minds human and fragile
Spheres of moonlit halos
Become, no more than serpent spies
Peeking through faultlines of life
Dancing about to the madness limbo
One lost soul...
Shipwrecks against a sea
And there too does the twist of tango
Eyes of the deep; tentacles, touching me
Elsewhere, the raven flies repetition
Into glass windows
Blood stains upon a faceless mask
Drowns out the cries and the conscience
Of feathers blacker that lie strewn
Are the questions I have asked
And the answers I cannot have
Let slip feigned breath of man beneath
A gargle from the cold tunnel brine
What's left surrenders alter to its evil
And nothing is, to evermore survive
And the eves and ides of May
Are Saran gas upon a mass of land
Men of desparation hunger
Eating flesh of man much meeker
And thou wilst not again
Glimpse thy rival sun
Nor when it comes, goes
Or finality, when it finds its done
Inspired by the madness of Poe
That which is locked within us all
I look out my window
No longer white and fluffy
The snow has turned a sickly gray
Much like my mood towards this season of death
Tired of dark clouds and cold winds
The birds are wise to abandon this desolate place
I dream of sunshine and blue sky
Running barefoot across green grass
Smelling the fresh scent of spring breezes
Lazy days of summer accompanied by young lovers
For now I am a prisoner in a cold land
Wrapped in my blanket staring out at the gray
Nothing seems to warm the coldness that has invaded my soul
Old man winter has stolen another day
I wait and I wait
Time seems to move in reverse
Is there any escape?
I go to my computer
Warm weather awaits me
Just a click a way
Visions of spring dance in my head
I can cheat on winter
Escape cold fingers
I can fly away to some exotic warm land
Run through Sun drenched waves
Drink umbrella drinks
I can follow those clever birds
I long for this escape
Just four hours away
I arrive at the airport bags in hand
Then comes a storm
Old man winter refuses to release his icy grip
I look out the airport window
The snow covered runway is pure white
All flights cancelled
A block of ice where my heart used to be
How I long for spring
Winter Be Gone Contest
Poem written January 27th for your contest.
Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.
Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.
From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.
September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.
But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.
I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.
Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.
I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.
Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.
September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.
I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.
Written October 26, 2013
Love cries out from a songbird
On the first day of spring
And all the flowers bloom in the rain
And sunshine reigns
Over every boy and every girl
In this town that's driving me insane
On the first day of spring
The beginning of the end
Blue skies pulling me in
Along with all my friends
Rain shields the sun again
Alone in my room
To the deepest depths of my soul
To sew back shut a hole
That will make me whole
I'm melting to the permafrost
How I feel so lost
In the world I used to call my own
Now I feel so alone
Without a house to call my home
Bringing novel flowers
To this multicolored Earth,
A really wretched place actually,
If you know the awful truth about it
Taking some flowers with it,
Upon these fortunate plants
Seventeen springs ago,
An ordinary flower blossomed
On this cursed land.
The worst of all curses,
Placed on this pitiful plant
And a fate worse than death
Seasons flew by
And the flower withstood
The immense force of the elements,
Debilitated by great adversity
Brought by the years
Now with spring close by,
If fate shall allow,
Hopefully this spring,
This dying flower will perish.
Its roots turned to ashes
And carried by the winds of freedom
To the promised eternal paradise
A garden greets my eyes
With its breath-taking beauty
And my suffering dies
Memories linger melancholy
as I approach the bridge
to the Gardens de Sol.
A picture forms in my weary mind;
Just a mere shadowed mirage,
like an old faded photograph
in a heart shaped locket
kept near my soul centre
for days, weeks and decades….
fall winds crooning blue zephyrs
frigid, incantations upon the
once verdant meadows
where the fawns grazed
and wild horses pranced
so breezy carefree
on fine spring days....
I whirled and twirled , a carefree dance
on patches of clover and dandelions
in the spring of my youth
Reveling joie de vivre of sun
Sol warming skin and soul pink
I remember our long, meandering walks
in a picture perfect rose garden
scented with redolent pines
and aromatic wild flowers
we conversed for hours,
my hand in yours
thrilling at your every word
infatuated by a fervent touch
You, idly picking petals off a rose;
the deep timbre of your delicious laugh
resounding joy to my acquiescent ears
as I cavorted playfully in the garden’s fountain
until lengthening shadows quilted the path
with reluctant to leave, sun beams
of a late summer afternoon
And afterwards, in twilight violet sky;
intimate moments by a blazing fire,
silent music of our hearts thrumming
a lovers sonata while
you kissed me;
gold specked brown orbs,
so pleasurable and beguiling,
warming my soul
full of tomorrows promise
and forgotten yesterdays
Now, as I picture this quixotic drama
rehearsed again and again
one solitary tear slowly trails down
and comes to rest on lines
that were not there yesterday…..
Dead cornflake leaves
crunch under my feet
as I walk the very same
bridged pathway to the garden
my only audience
a solitary prickly cactus
in the autumn of my years.......