Sunday, January 6, 2013


By Rick Williams

When depression rears its ugly head
gone is her will to climb from bed.

Helplessness as I stand near.
If I speak, what will she hear?

The best intentions, oft misread
make me wish I'd different, said.

I want to be her supportive rock
but how do I know when not to talk?

Actions, or lack thereof, lead me
to think that quiet is how I should be.

But if I'm wrong and don't say a thing
I'm called indifferent and feel her sting.

Sometimes it's like, every time
I say a thing I've committed a crime.

If it happens while we're in the car
I try conversation but don't get far.

Eventually I sigh and switch to mute
because no words came forth en route.

Turn music on? No, I don't dare
because that means that I don't care.

To play it safe I'm better off to be
completely quiet, as is she.

I can not begin to understand
the woe she feels and must withstand.

I only hope that one day soon
we can put her back in tune.