(sweeping away the colors,call me. Don't sit in silence,
absorbing all the light,
stilling the quick movements)
gritting your teeth, gripping your pen,when the depression sweeps your words away
scraping its point across the paper.
You hold the pen in a clenched fist,
Don't sit in the cold silence
as the people pass in and out,Don't be the only still stone
and never speak your name.
in a world of leaves flying on the windwhen the depression comes
(They start to fall, but they never really land)
Don't let it sweep over you.
I know, it comes like the cold tide of a grey ocean.sweeping around your bare ankles, swirling the gritty sand.
I know, it comes faster than you could ever expect,
But don't just stand there,
when the depression comes (cold)don't stand there (shivering and soaked)--Move, climb:
and the wind sweeps in (chilling),
There is a solid place where you can sit,
and watch the world change:
the falling leaves, the inexorable oceanbut you'll be on dry ground
and the wind will roar around you
When the depression comes: call me.
I will sweep the falling leaves
[I wrote this during my free-writing class. But it was always for you.]