alone, Chicago, depression, lonely, Poem, Poetry, solitary, song, suicide

The Man From Hurst

There once was a man from Hurst
Stocky, bald and bereft of emotion
Each day he woke up absent of hope
He lifted his lugubrious body slowly
As if forcing time to bend to his will
As he gazed into the grimy mirror
Bloodshot and empty eyes stared back
His mind searched for any memory
Or thought to crystallize his existence
To distinguish one day from the other
To make him aware of being alive

There once was a man from Hurst
Who woke up one day and decided
That today was the day that mattered
He showered and he brushed
He pressed and he dressed
He ate flapjacks laced in syrup
And drank coffee with extra sugar
He wiped his face
He tied his shoe lace
And stepped onto his porch
This stocky man from Hurst
What life he led one doesn’t know
But asĀ gazes at the approaching dawn
He finally embraced his one true love

anger, antidepressants, confidence, Dark, death, depression, Existence, Fall, fear, hope, hopeless, life, lost, Poem, Poetry, Reality


In the sea of darkness,
In absence of light,
This solitary man floats on,
Rudderless and without a mast,
Moving neither forward nor back,
Fearless and yet unafraid,
Hopeless and yet existent…

He floats seemingly,
Like a lone log driftless,
Tepid waters of diffidence,
Bathe his skin cold and lifeless,
The taunt and deep ridges of thought,
gently massaged away by these waters…

He floats gently,
Like the lone autumn leaf,
Falling from heights of glory,
Unaware as the mighty wind,
Gently caresses him and still,
Cradles him as he falls,
Towards the abyss of oblivion…