The demons are back from vacation,
fresh and vile, laughing at your surprise,
You should have, after all, stayed ready for them.
It was their vacation, not yours.
Still, you are not a callow boy of fifty any longer.
Your innocence is largely spent and you recover,
invite them in for tea, even if you rarely drink tea.
Contract talks. A chance to recall the litany of lies
and believe, once again. nothing they say.
Substituting your mist for theirs,
for yours is golden with sunshine, and even
if it is a lie as big as the ones they spout,
It’s your lie.
Joyful and golden,
and stuffed full of what they lack – Love. Truth
and good music.
About this poem.
A change from low dose meds to no dose meds. Worked for a while. But the demons always return. Fortunately I am more wiley than I look. They taught me well.
Swaying to the music.
My demons have to be kept at bay too but I still need anti-depressants.
Evidently, so do I.