Desert sands sift through my hands.
Moments of time lost, left behind.
How do I go on without a song
in the depths of my heart without falling apart?
Dear God, this torture with unforeseeable closure…
Sky’s permanently dark without fire, match, or spark.
Here we go again — seized by panic for hours on end.
Moods like the tide ebbing, flowing uncontrollably inside.
Contemplating defeat beneath the sweltering heat
of life, seemingly endless strife.
But no. I’ll split the night with an internal light.
Even if the endless sea waits for me
to swallow, to drown, to take me down
I’ll go thrashing, kicking but never helplessly sinking.
I choose to live. I choose to give
all of me to seek hope, to seize victory.
To embrace the pain. To embrace my brain
the way it is and stop chasing after permanent bliss.
I accept my battles; they’ll never keep me forever shackled.
I will live to see the sun. I won’t stop until it’s done.
Goodnight, fair moon. I’m done singing your tune.
Because woe is me will never set me free.
I will, I can, despite the limitations of the man
who walks through the desert lands.
Put It To Rest is a new publication looking for first-person stories and poems pertaining to mental health:
