In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
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Author:
Lewis O’Carroll (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 15th, 2026 14:03
- Comment from author about the poem: An exploration of the quiet, unearned fatigue that comes with a traumatized nervous system. While youth is often framed as a time of vitality and social connection, this piece addresses the harsh reality of spending those key years weighed down by chronic physical tension, mental exhaustion, mental health struggles, and a state of constant unwellness—an experience that can feel entirely devoid of goodness or worth. It is a raw look at feeling old long before your time, where carrying years of relentless nervous system strain throughout your teens and early twenties drains away normal energy, leaving a heavy sense of premature aging and internal exhaustion instead of basic wellness.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
I love this write with its imagery and meter. Very nicely written and a fave.
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