Melancholy Madness

Insidious black creeping into my mind and devouring all that seems right.

Craven becomes the mind soaked with the plague of knowing what is less than what was with every single day passing.

Steps just shaking to move forward as the death hangs with every breath.

No window can provide the freedom necessary to escape this madness that drifts in with the shadows and leaves the ebony stain of immortal wisdom in its wake.

Reviews

[willweb]

"The ebony stain of immortal wisdom" This stain is found in the mind that absorbs the insidious black? There is a true darkness to this poem, it seems framed in a gilded question that flows through that window. This poem creates thoughts in my mind...need I be worried?

[AKhaus]

it's too late :) Ha! thank you

[Chris]

Was a time when the walls closing in wasn't as dark and was more directed toward boredom rather than depression. People can escape boredom by doing and getting involved. But depression is inescapable without altering one's mind ...somehow.