some lugubriety
The Midwinter Hangover
All the ghosts parade to haunt you
in your mind to bog you down
into depression and to nothingness,
while you, reduced to apathy, just sit and stare
into a black hole in the air
in sordid bleakness waiting for a change
and for the ghost parade to end
and cease their battering of you to pieces;
while you mourn the days when you were active,
free and young and vitally creative,
while there's nothing else for you to do now
but to dream and gradually just fade away
and drift along the self-deceit of self-seduction.
Is there no salvation and no hope, then?
Yes. There never was a dream without awakenings.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 583 times
Written on 2009-01-06 at 10:44
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