My dear, dear friend,
I know the hell you’re in,
the black hole
unfathomable,
that weight upon
your tired, tired mind.
Times were, I too
couldn’t summon the
strength to climb
the greasy pole to
give me light of day.
I am here to reach
your fingertips
so light may caress
your care-worn brow.
Reach out to me, my
dear, dear friend, take
my worn hand
and heave
one more time.
I love you, we are
inseparable
from now on,
for I love you as you are
- not for what you were
before depression
stormed your soul.
You don’t need words
for me, just your hand.
I want to hug you
in your blackest hour
so that, hand outstretched,
you may once more
stand tall
in morning’s light,
and smile
- as only you can smile.

I'm here, John. Thank you for your beautiful poem! You know the feeling, that's quite plain. My doctor is insisting on ECT due to refraction of the symptoms. Do you know anyone who can tell me the aftereffects? billie