Crossing the River of Despair

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 Crossing the River of Despair


Walking high above the raging river

On a bridge, solid, substantial.

But my walk hemmed-in on one side 

By four lanes of drivers racing by,

Tailgating...who knows?...texting.

And on the other side, by a low rail 

Marking the border of oblivion.

What to do if a car veers towards me?

Take the bone crunch and organ split,

Or the leap into, probably, the last air I’ll ever breathe.

This a glimpse into the anxiety-ridden mind of the depressed:

The alternatives morose, seemingly unbearable,

Until that river of despair is crossed,

Helped across by a caring human being.

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