Daniel B. Silver



I know this feeling is chemical
The genesis of lack of sleep or drink
Neither fair nor logical
But none the less I think

That I’d rather like to vanquish
The cause of its fruition
To remedy the persistent
And nagging nature or this condition

Oft I’ve longed to be a simple man
As spoken of in classics
I’ve dreamed of having a quiet mind
One uncomplicated and basic

But for whatever reason mine is not this way
It exists in a state of turmoil
A shadowed place of cold and guilt
Like a room from which most would recoil

As the years have passed
Some have heard me say
That I’m not an easy man to know
I’ve not a peaceful way

So I suppose I’ve come to terms or reached
Some kind of uneasy truce
That I’ll never shake this tenacious angst
For depression I’ll have to find a use

Logically, I know I could find a cure
It’s said that professionals have the tools
But try telling that to the demon in me
Who thinks the angel half is a fool