Euphoria delays herself
as Lethargy runs free
and tethers to my binded soul
that aching reverie.

I told her, “Come, please make your home,”
time creeps immovably,
but wistful dreams and slothful gaze
prolong my Apathy.

The Wonder that once caressed my soul
now sings Despondency,
and still the clock hand whispers slow
against His “Come and be.”

–Despondency by Collette Kristevski

* This poem is the fourth post in the series, Death to Despondency.  Click here for the first post to read from the beginning.