Depression is a Place

There is another Inn

where we sit in cahoots,

but there is a price to pay

and in love it is hard to find the other drinking there.


In the Tavern of Sadness I cannot reach you,

nor span the chasm with smiles or tears,

only offer my soul as a ramshackle bar to lean upon,

my heart a familiar juke box beat you may recognise.


Fire side, Pain embraces too tightly, spirits burn;

we are cast deep into our own murky corners;

misery etches your damp countenance on a beer mat,

then turns her considerable talents to mine.


I am learning tho, in the tap room, to wait a while,

to emulate the wild things that you love.

My darts, tiny lights, are glow worms when your fire emits no flame.

Then, after last orders, I trust the way home you take,

singing quietly in the darkness,

breathing slow and even til you lift your beautiful eyes.