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Canyon of Emotions
Depression is a canyon—deep, wide, and rugged.
It has a top; it has a bottom.
But there is a rocket that plummets to its depths,
With only a slow and arduous build to the top.
The canyon has an oasis,
But it is infested with arsenic.
A bright pink flower glows atop a cactus.
The glowing touch is beautiful,
But its needles are sharp—impaling, lingering.
Pain freezes time long after the touch is gone.
Sometimes, a visitor comes to the canyon
Not realizing the rocket ride they took,
Descending to the bottom.
Other times, a visitor falls
From their lofty perch—
Looking over and judging those inside.
Mirages of lifelines waver in the distance.
A ladder leans along the canyon wall,
But it does not begin to climb out of the hole—
It is only there to offer false hope.
Be careful around the edges.
They are more slippery than the imagination.
The edges shift, rotate,
Taunt and tease.
Be careful around the edges—
Because you never know
Exactly how deep the canyon is
Until you fall inside.
Copyright ©
Miranda Hawley
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