Poem: Warrior Gardener


Warrior Gardener

It creeps.
That’s what you need to know.
It’s not a bludgeon,
but a spider web,
a vine without flowers.
Elegant, even beautiful,
it creeps into the cracks.
It blocks the light.
It swallows you, one moment at a time,
invisible, as long as you fight,
as long as you cut it back each day.

And that is what you become,
a warrior gardener,
never quite ahead of the vines,
unable to rest,
no lulls allowed,
for the enemy never rests,
and so,
neither do you.

About this poem

One of the things people don’t understand about depression is that it is an everyday struggle. And if you don’t struggle, you lose. There is no rest. Not in good times. Not in bad.

So if we depressed folks seem tired… mostly we are. But on the other hand, those of us who fight it?  We’re tough.


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