Manic Depression By John Lars Zwerenz

MANIC DEPRESSION There is a well of blackened brine, That knows no dell of air or sunshine, A volatile fire, it consumes the heart, The mind, the spirit, it rends apart. And when the hell spawn is loosened in the night, Beneath the mad moon, bereft of hope, and stripped of light, The long, corridor where candles flicker Makes the dark malevolent, the fog grows thicker, Until all hope is banished- Hell has arrived With steely claws which rise from fire Doom- demise, gloom beyond reason. There is no blame, no tangible treason. And the hallow wind courses through the soul, Devouring dreams, swallowing whole All of Neptune's promise, The rings of Saturn. An outcast that does fall You are thrown into the endless pit, Devoid of stars, In a maddened, mortal, tortured fit. JOHN LARS ZWERENZ