Depression is; a desert well of sand
no water drops are left to tear the pain
and buries hearts as granules hold remand
for there alone and in; despondent shame.

A grief within a world that none can hear
nor venture near enough to sense one's dry,
the inner voices scream but choke on fear
to speak; is churning neath the weighted sigh.

To walk with feet that sink, in winds that burn
and forms the tallest dunes that grows to tame
then render one like lifeless dust to urn
and better then to be in death than maim.

Depression is; that plain that sorrow bore
and that is just an hour, the hell has more.