Rolph David


In shadows deep, where darkness dwells,
  A silent storm, in silent cells,
    A spectre's grip on weary hearts,
      Depression's art, its subtle parts.

It creeps like ivy, slow and sly,
  To cast its shroud upon the sky,
    A cloud that veils the sun's warm grace,
      And paints the world in sombre space.

Oh, melancholy's heavy cloak,
  A weight that whispers, never spoke,
    It weaves its threads of leaden grey,
      Intruding thoughts that never sway.

A spectre's hand, a ghostly touch,
  It drains the colours, oh, so much,
    From life's once vibrant tapestry,
      Replacing joy with apathy.

In solitude, it finds its home,
  A captive mind, a heart o'erthrown,
    Yet in this darkness, let us find,
      A chance to heal and realign.

For through the depths of sorrow's night,
  There lies the strength to see the light,
    To navigate the endless maze,
      And in its midst, find brighter days.

Though in this ode, I speak of pain,
  There's hope that shall forever reign,
    For in our battles, we are strong,
      And life's sweet music plays along.

Let not depression's grip hold fast,
  For brighter futures lie in wait,
    With help and love, we shall endure,
      The storms of life, we shall secure.

So, in the shadowed depths, we find,
  A strength of heart, of soul, of mind,
    To rise above the darkest hour,
      And let our inner strength empower.

All rights belong to its author. It was published on by demand of Rolph David.
Published on on 10/20/2023.


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