I fear that I’ll fail to keep my grip
On the good moods in life
That the dark thoughts will overcome
The ongoing fight.
I push the darkness away
But the words attach deep
They cut the good into the ground
Ready to sow new seeds.
I’ll wish and I’ll pray that new moods flower
To sustain this decaying body of mine.
A week, a month, a year before
The return –
will I ever be fine?