I know this time and feeling will pass, for it always does. The cycles repeat. Each time, I hope I learn something new. Here's a poem from about a year ago.
Depression (1/26/2005)
It’s nothing novel anymore,
it’s passed from new to boring.
I wonder when I’ll get it back,
that silent spark of longing.
The triumph of the spirit … sags.
The pomp and fanfares … mumble.
The time that once sped by … just stumbles.
Hilarity that once delighted, now appears a gag.
I know this passing day will pass,
this cloud of gloom will dissipate,
and so I wait,
until that time arrives.
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