The Dark Hole

The penetrating

darkness overwhelms us so

much, it feels like death.

 

Great, solid men have

been brought to their knees by this

burdening disease.

 

No drive to live or

to work or to spend time with

all of their children.

 

You become the lost,

the hermit that nobody

wants to see at all.

 

You give away the

shot glass collection, the ones

from every state.

 

You pawn the guitar,

on which you wrote the song that

won over your spouse.

 

You even sell the

watch your grandfather gave to

you on his deathbed.

 

At some point, it all

fail’d, all the therapy and

the medication.

 

A dripping bag of

Prozac or Paxil is not

enough to kill it.

 

Days upon weeks of

intense psychotherapy

cannot slay the beast.

 

Even a stint in

the white, bouncy room may not

murder the demon.

 

So these are the times

that friends and family dread

the worst and the most.

 

They intervene and

they try to persuade the one

from following through.

 

But, sadly, they are

reading obituaries

in the newspaper.

 

And attending the

funeral of the person

holding the burden.

The dark hole that is

depression leads to only

the greatest despair.

This is why we help

them because living is not

always the dark hole.