Fatality.., Black Dogs Guard.., When Loving’s…

Three poems on mental health issues – conjecture with
some statistical validity.

 

Fatality

Can balance on a thin fulcrum; often incense victims
on death of perpetrator.

 

Poised alongside
the electrostatic crackle
of an imminent express,
determined to lunge forwards,
clinging to still hesitant,
a sullen face suddenly
confronted her,
a still death mask
in a green glass blur that
screeched and rattled past
for what seemed
an eternity.

Steadying herself
against imploding forces,
in the silent, grey aftermath,
she reflected on her life,
wondered if it was all
predetermined.

Beyond the empty platform,
damp mist dispersed quickly
leaving glistening beads on
bright red roses.
If the local train’s on time,
tea might greet
homecoming children;
we can never know,
she thought.
 
 
Goth:2020

<>

 

When Loving’s More Fearful

There is a priority ranking controlling survival: air, temperature, nourishment,
sexuality, of which the last two, originally, were alternating.

 

Inhaling, protected
from inclement elements

the pendulum swings
from one source of sustenance
to another
from soma to psyche

satisfy one, awaken the other
and so repeated
from primal split, till lust
leaves life

What lurks in love’s cruel mantle
to a priori stop the clock?

Angst’s most secret mystery
self-sacrificial
essentially sequential

Hunger works
but wasting kills

when loving’s more fearful
than dying

 

Goth:2020

<>

 

Black Dogs Guard The Gods

defending you (from psychosis), though it doesn’t feel it!
Memory’s two functional values: the one, male, searching (associational spread), the other, female, collecting (cohesion); ideally, and normally, both with equal, varying strength. Endogenous depression protects lack of sufficient cohesion; the ‘genius’ has exceptionally high levels of both.

 

There are
somnolent servants of God,

deciding which side
of narrow tracks
transgressing minds will lie.

Asleep for some,
for reasons the Almighty known,
their dreams echoing sufferers on
remote hikes
through private landscapes.

Awake for most,
they serve their Master well,
pouncing like falling Winter fog,
to prevent
en route disorientation.

For, without their blunt encumbrance,
the most depression-prone would
venture off like geniuses,

separate without trace from
the first stride.
 
 
Goth:2020

 

 

 

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