Another poem about that one word.
Depression is more like grief. It's a crushed feeling. A grinding into dust. A shattering. A grating apart like flour forced through a sifter. A parasitic tapeworm of the soul. A weight on my chest, so heavy I can hardly breathe, producing the panic of an asthma attack, as if I am about to die.
Gratitude is never first on the scene. Like anger, it's a reaction only, more often a choice, and when consistently pursued, a habit. Like other emotions, it's a fuel. But unlike depressive states, it's not a fuel that burns me down to ashes, it's a fuel that drives me forward. It's flexible to any kind of attack, has no end, and it can roll any which way. Like a sphere, I suppose. Love is also like that. To me, gratitude in the midst of my circumstances, no matter what they are, is an expression of love toward my God; an unwritten love letter lived out.
A poem about the relentless pursuit of my Love through all my darkness and storms.
Blogging Awards, thanks, and nominations.