One grows older and more knowing over time;
life's more facile charms grow dim;
the soul yearns, seeking more 
than could ever be had on this earth,
more than could ever be wrought 
out of three dimensions and five senses.


We, all of us, suffer from the limits 
of living within the flesh.
Our walk through this world 
is never entirely without that pain.
It lurks in the still, quiet hours which we, 
in our constant busyness, steadfastly avoid.


...perhaps what we call depression
isn't really a disorder at all but,
like physical pain, an alarm of sorts,
alerting us that something is undoubtedly wrong;
that perhaps it is time to stop, take a time out,
take as long as it takes,
and attend to the unaddressed business of filling our souls.



From "Fading to Gray" by Lee Stringer.
In: "Unholy Ghost. Writers on Depression," edited by Nell Casey.



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