Short answer but a long example! Yes. I think Poetry can make a person aware. I think it’s purpose is to make others feel something. Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, it doesn’t have to conform. I think this is a good example.
Depression
By, DWW25921
Depression grips with icy claws… Tearing painfully through flesh as it eats steadily towards the heart of it’s victim. Depression goes from a feeling to a way of life as easily as a narcotic becomes a habit. At least it’s something to feel. Always there, to be relied upon in times of trouble. Almost the antithesis of comfort yet comforting in it’s reliability.
Depression does not know joy or contentment as it smothers all. Conquering and pillaging through a persons mind in a ferocious onslaught. It is so very hard to fight and so easy to succumb. It wants us all to give in. It wants us all to let it control, destroy. Until a person becomes a shell. Walking flesh going through the motions of daily life.
The habitually depressed are the joyless. Trying so very hard to obtain some feeling of happiness. A small tidbit of glee from this icy grip of reality. Booze helps a little but the bottle runs out. Drugs help a little till the dealer gets busted. Sex works as long as it works. When it’s over, the vice of choice has run its course… it’s there. It’s always there. Snickering.
Peering through the darkness. Lurking in the shadows awaiting a soul to devour. Stalking. Trying so hard to break free. Every kind word helps and every bit, even the tiniest sliver of negativity can send a roller coaster of pain. Outside the wall is up. Strength. Stability. Even honor. Inside emotions and worthless mind banter reign in self destruction.
Peace is more important than understanding. Others don’t have to understand. Just accept. Help. Please help. Oh God help. Or leave us alone. Just don’t make it worse. The depressed are vacuums, sucking in all the good times… Trying to hold on in anticipation for the next one. Hoping for some form of adoration that never comes. Loosing hope…
Love isn’t real. Joy is a farce. Happiness is nothing more than a brief lean on a crutch. (Depression can’t mess with a high junkie.) The roller coaster makes frequent stops. Not sure where the end is. Want to get off. This ride isn’t fun anymore. It hurts. Make it stop. Must have peace, at any cost. Don’t have enough to buy it. Peace. Priceless. Unattainable.
Observing others. Lemmings. Don’t have any REAL problems. Grandma said our pain is bigger than anyone else’s. It’s a gargantuan chasm. An ocean. Space. Big. Depression is bigger than we are. That’s why we are powerless against it. Depression goes from a feeling to a way of life as easily as a narcotic becomes a habit. What a way to live.