Sunday

Sunday


I’m feeling much better now,
I hardly think of it at all.
I’m only anxious for the morning now
and a little of the afternoon.
The depression comes and goes these days,
Morning, afternoon, evening,
like a wheel that turns
with a shift in the wind.

Yes, I’m feeling much better now,
except for those sunday afternoons
when the Black Terror builds in my gut,
‘til I’m terrified of myself and the future
and the past and the present.
And the anger and the horror build ‘til I know I’ll kill or die...
and its gone.
The Black Terror doesn’t come often,
but the threat of it looms over sunday
like a Hindenburgh about to touch
its mooring post.
As the afternoon creeps by
I fear every twinge in my belly
and dread every wrinkle in my mood.
Some times there’ll be a swell of It
run low and slow through my soul.
Just enough to remind me
just what it is I’m afraid of.

Perhaps it was on sunday afternoons,
all those years ago,
those people took me to their room.
And the terror was for real.
Right after sunday school.
But I hardly think of it at all anymore,
I’m feeling much better, really.