I will be seeing a psychologist tomorrow. From my perspective, I'm just at a liminal state. Rational thinking has not yet flown the nest. I'm still sane. I discovered a happy zone within the last hour. I talked over the salient points of my depression, and I feel better for it
Writing didn't help, prior to the (hour? two hour?) talk. But judge the paradox for yourself.
A Moment in a Day
Now: reach an impasse on that tragic day.
For on that doubly bitter, hostile morn,
I heard a voice affirm shared fears and say:
‘Perhaps such over thinking and such scorn
Become mere follies of the complex mind?’
Who knows what deep profundities lie here?
They know not what they see, nor what they find
Below the trembling semblance, or the fear:
Mock not the semblance of such competence,
But pity things beneath aesthetic charm,
Mock not the mind that strives to find some sense
Amidst forgetful snow, she’ll find the calm.
This writing frees the psyche, in this case,
Judge not its meter, rhyme, caesura, pace.
Then let us reach a judgement of these rhymes,
Surmise that they are self indulgent – sure.
Know not our first perception, for these lines,
Though idiosyncratic, are no cure.
Surmise not that such forms ape these things white –
Not for a moment would you take the stance,
But for a second would the writer write:
The reader mocks such mawkish self-romance?
Accept: behind ‘emotion’, artifice
Strays not so far behind, thus kills the plight:
Destroying all integrity you wist…
Until you see it in a different light.
See here not that pastiche must get a crown,
A guinea, penny, pound, there’s how you’ll bet.
Instead think how the process doubly frowns;
Perplexing puzzle, ticking psyche, yet
The paradox is this: that where you guess
Resides a whirring cog, a ticking hand,
There is a strange distracting emptiness
A moment in a day he cannot find.