Gordon G Hall
Writer and Neo-Philhellene

Poetry of Depression


Nailed only lightly to the whims of mind,
still residence of sanity’s retreat.
Sole captive of the bleak, the black, the blind,
cruelest jailer, extolling our defeat.
Haunted by echoes of joy and laughter,
mocking phantoms, littering our wayside,
extinguishing hope of our hereafter,
tolling a melancholy eventide.

Black the dog that ensnares us in its thrall,
by indulgent snap of introspection,
stifling of self, that ensures that we all
can merely skulk in our self-rejection.

Painful the journey that teaches beware
of kicking the pricks of our own despair


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Distant Fells
Inspiration from this glorious world.