adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, April 26, 2006


My prayer, many the restless
night, is to sleep
and not wake. The sun
is only God’s latest taunt;
the morning, His brightly wrapped
package of despair.

How many empty boxes
have I opened before?
Now the ribbons are pressed
between my pages, the papers
carefully folded. And why
not? They’re all I have.

Stephen Brooke ©2006

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