Don't Forget

Don't Forget

-a poem about depression-

written on 29th December 2015

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The Wicked Maker

[Writing Prompts December Goal]

Call me, maybe

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Title

The Wicked Maker

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The black screen shines its light, inciting irritation from me. 

          I used to like dark colours, that is, after the colour green. After reading The Secret Garden however, I was intrigued by black. In a way, watching the spy cartoon - Kim Possible, made my interest in the colour black grew back then. I liked Mary’s changes, and Dickon’s brightness. Nevertheless, when they were bright, they lost their mysteries. That was all I cared about in the past; mysteries. I was sure that I outgrew them. I was. But I hate that vibrate accompanied shine from the usual black screen that rests on the accent table.

Sonnet II, from "To W.P."

Sonnet II, from "To W.P."

With you a part of me hath passed away;
For in the peopled forest of my mind
A tree made leafless by this wintry wind
Shall never don again its green array.
Chapel and fireside, country road and bay,
Have something of their friendliness resigned;
Another, if I would, I could not find,
And I am grown much older in a day.

But yet I treasure in my memory
Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease,
And the dear honour of your amity;
For these once mine, my life is rich with these.
And I scarce know which part may greater be,--
What I keep of you, or you rob from me.

-- George Santayana

Found this from The Wondering Ministrel.

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What I un-Wished

A poem about a different outcome of waiting.

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I remember it like it was yesterday

Your distance silhouette once again leaving

You said your goodbye with a deceived smile

Father promising many calls

Sisters hugging convinced that they will endure

Brother fighting his tears from the future longing

Yet you stood there and waved anyways

A brave smile you masked on

Not believing that all will be alright.

Let go

Not there, I say

Not here? He says

Not there, I say

Not here, he says.

Further, I say

Further? He says

Further, I say

Further, he says.

It's here, I know

Not there, she says

It's here, I know

Not there, she says

True, she says

Lies, I know

True, she says

Lies, I know

Let's go, she says

Let's go, I say.

Let's go, I say

Let's go, he says.

Run, she says.

Stay, I whisper

Run, she says.

Okay, I whisper.

Stay, she did.

Run, I did.

Bye, I said.

Don't, she says

Bye, I said

Stop, she did.

Please, I say

None he says

Come, I say

None he says.

Sorry, I say

Smile he did.

Sorry she says

Cry she does.

It Took All My Energy

 written by Tony Wallace (2001)

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It took all my energy to want you

and the rest of me to go after you

and then one day I knew

that I had you.

I am Sorrow

written by Sindy Cheung (1989)

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Who will listen to my feeling?

Who will listen to my useless land?

After the war, my skin had been damaged,

There are craters in my body.

Although I was sad, sorry, and suffering,

Who will listen to my feeling?

I am sad, sorry, and suffering,

Who will know my feeling?

I am not sad about my harmed body,

I am sorrow because of the people who can't use me rightly.

Who will know my feeling.

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extracted from The End of Your Life Book Club 
by Will Schwalbe

The poem was written when author was 16 years old. She's a Viatnamese, living in a refugee camp in Hong Kong.