Depressed, With Halo
He wears his depression
like a tarnished, tattered,
scratched and dented halo,
scavenged at some demented
yard sale,
bought and sold on the cheap
(But, oh! The price he pays -
priceless!)
His pants hang
dejectedly, sadly,
drooping and dragging,
two sizes too large
His shoulders, dripping
with no self-confidence at all,
have given up
even trying to unbend, unstoop,
down-trodden, hopeless,
no energy,
no spirit,
no charge
His head hangs forward
on a neck with no spine,
cocked slightly sideways,
avoiding a long-ago
slap
a resounding shadow
of ancient, horrid history
still ever-present,
still looming large and very, very
still
Given the gravity
of the situation,
I can no longer push
the elephant
up his steep and treacherous
hill
Still…
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