With banners flying in the wind
A thousand men were fighting still.
Mist dispersed as shadows danced
Then closed in again as the army passed.
Shadows! Shadows!
Everywhere!
Some cried out in helpless fear.
I cannot see the shape of it
The form,
The substance,
Where to hit!
They come at me with mighty force-
My mind's befuddled
My voice is hoarse
My eyes are bulging -
There's no release
There'll be no feast of victory here.
Each day they come in swirling mist
No breath,
No warmth,
Just mighty force.
Amongst the thousand
I march on -
A futile battle,
This is one.
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Author Notes
I wrote this poem when in deep depression. Relentlessly having unwanted flashbacks, memories streaming through my brain like a video gone wild and the black dog always nipping at my heels. I felt like I was in a war zone with myself but like in some other place yet still here and that was the crazy making thing about depression.
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