How can you not be happy here?
It’s Paris, you’re a lucky guy!

I know, I know, I should be glad,
And I can’t really tell you why
I feel (or don’t feel) how I do;
It’s more than simply feeling ‘blue’

It’s like I cannot feel at all,
The lights are down, the shade is drawn;
It’s Paris, and it’s beautiful –
But all of that’s within me gone.

Beside this carousel I feel
Reproachful looks my way addressed;
I wish I wasn’t made this way,
That I was not so damned

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

5 thoughts on “Carousel”

    1. At my worst, I used to imagine being in the Depression Olympics. The starter gun would go off, but no one would care, we’d all just mill around and glare at the person who made that much loud noise.

      Depression sucks. I hate it. I wish it would go away forever.

      Especially for you.

Leave a Reply