“The self is not enough.
But that’s all we’ve got.”
Said a voice
across
my dream.
Yet I sensed a
small bright
glow
emerge
within.
As if some light
had already
opened
the tick
of a tiny
flower.
Split from
its negative
through darkness.
Under
these
still-closed
eyes.
(Above is a poem from when I was aged 20.
Inspired by things glimpsed during semi-conscious states.)
Creating verse seems beyond me, at present.
The flu, with its fevers and headaches, has eased.
But post-viral depression lingers on.
Viewing the current lockdown, from the perspective of someone
isolated by chronic illness (mainly housebound and alone) for over 30 years:
it feels rather strange to see so many people now
struggling to cope with a slightly similar situation.
If symptoms improved, restless urges for social life would also trouble me.
As fate turned-out, the chances for love, friends, or normality, faded long ago.
Of course, current restrictions could, shortly, be lifted.
While my own health problems remain incurable.
I thought of writing a post about dealing with solitude.
Though I worry this blog’s reach is too small, and my circumstances too unusual,
for helping others.
Comments are always VERY welcome! π
Hope everybody is well?
Have you spent more time online?
(I’ve found lots of interesting new blogs in the last few weeks.)
Thanks for reading!Β π
(Art on this site is mine.)
( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / depression / life / mental health / poem / poems / poetry / reading / writing )