Greg Connolly

This poem reflects my experience of living with depression and anxiety for most of my adult life. In it I attempt to convey the conflicting feelings of hatred toward the illness coupled with an ironic sense of comfort that it brings, signaling things are the same, there is no change, nothing to worry about.

I am 45 years of age, live in Dublin, Ireland. I have very recently begun to enjoy reading and writing poetry.

I am Dreaming of a Distant Land

I am dreaming of a distant land

of crystal streams and bright and blue

I am dreaming of a distant land

of pastures new and

where my erstwhile lover will be you

What crime of passion spawned such a snake

what dark dawn you rode to rise inside

or did we simply meet and greet?

But now my love our course is set

your heavy hand I cannot shake

companion through the ages, but all you do is take

and why deny the simple things?

– the touch of a hand, the joy of a golden band;

you twist your tourniquet tight

and believe it better to beleaguer

But now my sole is worn to tack

time’s patient pace has won the race

What fool to have hoped, or was there space?

perhaps, but now the seam is sewn

no sight of where you end and I begin;

you have made your home within.

I am dreaming of a distant land

where normal is not new

I am dreaming of a distant land

with a summer breeze and flowing hair

but alas, we are not there;

we ramble on this bleak boreen, arms entwined

like lovers on a summer eve

but for me dear friend, I pray you leave

– Greg Connolly, 2023

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