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Sam Kibble Poem
An effort to understand the intrinsic struggle of those with depression:
Oh reason,
Guide and comfort me.
Save me from this ghastly parasite,
This hermit who lives in our mind’s recess
Who denies us sleep at night.
Who scratches and tears at our will
Clings to it with putrid bones,
Leaves us completely helpless
As our body sobs and moans,
Who when you conquer heroically,
But temporarily of course,
Scurries back to our mind’s dark cavities
Feeling no guilt and no remorse.
Only to return
To prey upon our fears once more,
Taking pleasure in confounding us
Because our elation he abhors.
Though our mind erects his dungeon’s walls
It’s instead he that has us confined,
Imprisoned in a greater cell:
Achlys’ state of mind.
The glint in his eye still reflects
Our mind’s concoctions back at me,
But today’s the final time
He will detain my liberty
Now I break free,
From the metal with which we are tied,
And my claim to my own thoughts
Can no longer be denied.
No binding chains can match me now,
Not even my own anger sadness or fright,
Goodbye old friend, I bid you well;
I take my life tonight.
Copyright © Sam Kibble | Year Posted 2016
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Sam Kibble Poem
I wake up from a starry night of sleep,
By Sandman’s guile my conscience is appalled.
Through learnéd secrets I just cannot keep,
my recent slumber showed to me it all.
Great birds in flight above three rolling cliffs,
glass shards cascading down the craggy face
of Mother Nature’s systematic glyphs
and happenstance’s green and mossy lace.
Down further countless species romp and flaunt,
amongst the soothing hum of flowing life.
The landscape scripted with a pleasing font,
no painful sounds nor any hint of strife.
How different this world would seem
If humans never came to be.
Copyright © Sam Kibble | Year Posted 2016
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Sam Kibble Poem
He hunches by a melancholy flame,
one teeming like a thousand thoughts awry,
a nagging urge coerces him to claim,
a stark conclusion hidden in the sky.
He stares into the desolate expanse,
a jet black of most paltry self esteem,
but in it hopeful bodies skip and prance,
like flabbergasted minds they vainly gleam,
remain aloof yet positively near,
the stillness heard but never seen or thought,
dance lucidly but never seem so clear,
with pirouettes always amount to naught.
He stares into the space and sees himself,
A sentiment that only he has felt.
Copyright © Sam Kibble | Year Posted 2016
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Sam Kibble Poem
Caroline stepped up to face the world,
Her pink-grey face grew more than slightly pale,
Her hands clasped a microphone of intimidating scale,
Oh how they wanted her to sing.
The audience with sat with expectation unfurled
But seemed so far away, so hard to hold,
Stale and fusty like a blue green mold,
Oh how they wanted her to sing.
The words came out timidly and slurred,
A sea of faces murmured as she spake,
With smiles quite bright but invariably fake,
Oh how she wanted them to sing.
She woke up with her ginger locks uncurled,
Despite the meek applause that she had worn,
The next day she moped sad and forlorn,
Oh how she wanted them to sing.
The world is but a stage
and we play but a part.
Copyright © Sam Kibble | Year Posted 2016
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Sam Kibble Poem
He stands resolutely
Through Mother Nature’s icy siege.
His grey-brown branches reach out
To touch the brisk air one last time
And touch my soul as I sit and
he whispers his countless secrets.
Finally his jutting veins release the rock face.
His spine creeks and his single weathered leaf
utters one last phrase
With a dignity so sure that all the forest
Fell into a hush and listened.
So many stories left to share,
But no time left to share them.
Cleared away by time like all those others
Daring enough to come before him.
Copyright © Sam Kibble | Year Posted 2016
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