It feels like I’ve fallen through ice on a lake
Black, gelid water, no chance of escape
Desperate to breathe, not seeing the light
Praying to God that I’ll be all right.
Some days I’m elated to be in my shoes
Laughing and hopeful, no cancerous gloom
to catch me again with its unannounced sleight
For these are the days I’m not under the ice.
Some days my process of thought isn’t right
Wandering or distant or unwilling to fight
for that spark of belief when belief’s all it takes
to stop me from falling once more in the lake.
Some days I dwell on the Grim Reaper’s goal
And when might he visit to drain out my soul
from the life that I have, from the life that I lead?
Will I be sleeping, will I be freed?
Will I know when it happens?
Will I fill with remorse?
Will I stand before God?
Will I have some recourse
to claim back my being and grab for the line
that’ll save me from sinking, from losing my mind?
Some days – in some ways – I feel out of place
Though you’ll never guess from the look on my face
how some days – in most ways – I’m drowning inside
and biting my tongue for the sake of my pride.
But one day I know that this sorrow and pain
Will fade like a breath on a cold window pane
My mind won’t be troubled by flashes of doom
One day, some day, hopefully soon.
P. A. Davies.