Ticking time passes slowly here,
I wait my turn as it draws near.
To arrive on time I rushed and raced,
Yet here I sit, with thoughts of fate.

Coming and going they pass all day,
Tempus fugit, but never my way.
“Good morning” I say as they come in,
They mumble back as if words are sin.

I look around at the ashen faces,
Little is known here of God’s Good Graces.
But if I’m in pain, then what of the staff,
I doubt they are capable of a smile or laugh.

My desk is the ball and time the chain,
This life isn’t the one for which I trained.
I had dreams of lives changed and of magical cures,
But now I can see that I was falsely lured.

A frozen tundra a thousand miles deep,
I stand to cross, treading on bodies that weep.
Placid long faces and longer sighs,
It is me that is called, my heart that cries.

Time’s up, notes made, I must progress,
Another approaches I can feel unrest.
Another patient, another life,
Again I know nothing of their case or strife.

I’m in his office, the same as them all,
A small dark window and a lifeless wall.
I go to speak, my throat is locked,
He fills the void as my senses are blocked.

What affliction this time, I look in his file,
I’ve made pages of notes, there’s no denial.
He sits and says nothing, the room is too still,
I begin talking to warm the chill.

Each word he says is spoken with care,
He knows how I feel, deep down somewhere.
He asks questions and listens well,
It’s only because of this, that I begin to tell.

“I” is a word I use too often,
It is with “Us” and “We” that walls will soften.
I’m tired, overworked, and often stressed,
But so is he, likely more not less.

So here we sit, our depression is broken,
And in its place our spirit is woken.
This wasn’t done by drugs or injections,
But by talking, listening and making connections.