If I died some years ago,
My soul was ready, it did seem,
But if today I was to go,
I would be unaware of life’s scheme.

Once I was sure I knew happiness,
As it grew stronger and stronger,
But now am sure of less and less.
I seem to be growing no longer.

Depression comes in the wake of ascension
Of a rising soul in its yearning.
Testing its strength in the human tension,
Trying the validity of its learning.

Many thoughts return from the past,
Reliving the gamut of pain.
The taste of heaven does not last,
Only confusion does remain.

If search for truth be eternal,
The truth is not to be found.
The search itself is infernal;
Nothing in life is profound.

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