Despair

The precursor to Unmoored, a stab at allegory, but still first person.

Despair

An elaborate and ornate well

Large enough to slake a throng

It seems to go miles around

And into it I one day fell

I couldn't see the circular wall

For all the darkness inside

The light above disappeared

So engulfing I couldn't feel my fall

But down and down I seemed to go

Wondering when I'd hit bottom

For days it seemed I was suspended

Or maybe only minutes I do not know

The blackness sucked away my life

A grind-stone upon my soul

Solitude made me think quite mad

Enough to beg the knife

Plummeting while hanging there

Indifferent to my fate

Despairing for the bottle or pipe

That I'm here just isn't fair

Eventually I remembered my pen

But how to write in this cold abyss

Seeing the page by poetry's warm glow

I fell through the other side but I don't know when

The bottom well so alluring above

Though without water can still quench

The ravenous thirst that is despair

If you plum your depths without kid-gloves

Reviews

[Thomas Skahill]

Another wonderful poem, would mind explaining why you use kid-gloves?

[abluehorseandflowers]

It's a euphemism for going too easy on something, and in this case, for letting oneself off the hook in experiencing what is deeply uncomfortable.