Welcome!
People of existence! Once again I am here to tantalise and titillate your word…buds (do we have those?); I have for you a short poem. However, before your impatience gets the better of you, take a minute (or ten – I don’t know how slow you read) to read my introduction, as this isn’t it…
Introduction.
This is the first of (hopefully) many poems that I will be posting on Steemit for you wonderful people. As far as the collection of poems that I have on back catalogue, this isn’t anything ‘fresh out of the oven’; it is, in fact, many many years old, and so please appreciate that my writing style, and experience, has inflated since - along with my ego excessive modesty and self-hatred.
Before reading, please know that I’m not a fan of explaining what my poems are about; whatever my words mean to you, whatever wholly personal and subjective experience you find from them, is precisely what I have written my poems about – my words are for you. Please, try to refrain from dispelling that experience by reading forward of the poem. For those of you who strive for exactness and definitives, you may read uninhibited and untethered by reason – like some kind of spooky poetry ghost.
All the things I’m not.
my boat, it splinters thin;
Ever pounding is the ice,
that breaks the craft I'm in.
The sun is lost to me by day,
the stars dare guide me not.
This cloud is thick within my eyes,
it stirs the plans I plot.
My fingers fumble, stark in grasp,
My heart does venture stay.
The journey to all ends of life
is stricken, cold, and grey.
I call to all who'll help me,
my voice but made a din;
The air does grab my words so clear
To choke them course and thin.
The frost, it creeps up through my flesh,
It chills me shut and numb.
My sail does bare no earthly breath,
Away from where I've come.
Pouring in, the deep abyss,
I mend the holes it makes;
My shell, it cracks from dyke to dyke,
It bends and snaps and breaks.
Reason thus does have me hope,
End will cold unyielding.
This line of twine and bounding rope,
Does scar my hands in wielding.
Eddies whisper, dark in wake,
They'd have me scuttle ship.
Though all seems calm as mil pond lake,
I doubt my quaking lip.
No land is there for footing strong;
No longer may I stand.
A life to which I don't belong,
As hours made in sand.
My clock is ever ticking
In time my keel will rot.
For all the things I wish I was
And all the things I'm not.
…What does all of it mean?!
So, I wrote this while under the tiniest spell of… UNRELENTING DEPRESSION. While I take the subject of depression very seriously, I should like to keep this post of the light-hearted fashion (even though the poem was a bit dreary) and maintain that I am now, of course, much better.
The poem itself uses a sailing metaphor in order to describe the tasks behind managing such a terribly crippling illness. The boat represents the mind, or the psyche, and how it ultimately is slowly being destroyed or worn down. Such a state of mind leaves you completely disorientated; your thoughts are unclear, logic and reason seem skewed, and every moment that passes is exhausting to the point of failure to carry on.
Anxiety, though often coupled with depression, is much different. Personally, I got to a point of physical pain with my anxiety and, although I would try to reason through it, it very rarely went away. One of the cruellest aspects of these ‘betrayals of the mind’ is that your dreams and goals are still there, you just have no purpose and no motivation to find yourself achieving them. This is why I named the poem after one of the last two lines; my deepest fear was to one day find that all of these cripplingly cruel thoughts and feelings that I was having would turn out to be totally justified.
I have tried my best to represent these emotions in metaphor and imagery, and I will not patronise you with a line by line breakdown – it’s fairly straightforward.
These are things I honestly would not wish upon my worst enemy; they are terribly disabling illnesses that can take someone’s strength and confidence and turn it into a fine dust. I sincerely hope that if you suffer from anything even remotely similar, that you find help and guidance to see you through.
As for myself, I'm now back to somersaulting through life like a man possessed by the spirit of a runaway Ferris wheel.
Thank you for lending me your eyes...sorry if I bummed you out.
Dan.
Why is it so many creative people have these bouts with their mind? I, too, battled depression for many years. I remember feeling completely unable to write anything happy, whether it was a song or poem. It just felt like I was betraying myself to write anything beyond grief & despair. The depression was also my muse, or so I had convinced myself.
I love that you ask the reader to not try to figure out your meaning, rather, "...my words are for you." Poetry, music and lyrics are all about perception and interpretation. Each of us perceives his own reality and that matters more than the original intention behind the piece. At least, to me that has always been the case.
I remember hating analyzing old poems in school for the writer's intention. Even at a young age, I thought this was counter-intuitive to what the writer would have wanted because as much as we write for ourselves, often it's a cathartic process, when we finally decide to put it out there, then those words are for our reader. This way, our creations continue to recreate themselves with each new perception and interpretation.
Thank you so much for sharing.
I think we all go through a similar process of understanding where we fit into the world and trying to find a purpose. I also believe that it has a lot to do with our bodies own chemical development. It's comforting to know that the same thoughts have been had by others; there was a time when I used it as a muse for writing very overly sentimental and dark material - often folk songs.
Any written material, once written (the writing being part of that writer's catharsis and experience), is only really then meant to be read by someone else, and so it becomes the reader's catharsis and experience. Although, there are often times, when I revisit my older poems and see them completely differently - it's all subjective at the end of it all. :)
Now this is so rhythmically awesome!
Thank you @abfictionstories, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be posting more soon enough - my others aren't nearly as depressing, haha.
I read somewhere that poems are works of art not accompanied by music.
A musical tone on your words.
Depression is a topic that weighs heavily on me. I have been battling it for a good part of the year and it is not easy. Writing does help in brinhing forth a cathartic release.
It's interesting that you, as well as a few others, have noticed the rhythmic quality to this poem; I am actually a musician professionally, so perhaps it's my musicality bleeding through. shrugs
I'm happy that you enjoyed the poem. I completely agree with the concept of catharsis within artistic expression; music helped me immensely when I was struggling. It's an appalling place to be, I can only hope that you have a community of friends and family around you to help you through - don't shut yourself away.
I'll be putting out some more poetry (hopingly) this weekend but, for now, thanks again for reading.
Why thank you. I will post many more, don't worry. :)