Burn Bright - a poem about burnout

Burn Bright

Depression, is it?
Medication-induced
and difficult to elude?
I assumed the obvious
to be the truth,
but this trouble
is not what it
masquerades
to be.

There is another name
for the emptiness
that steals sleep,
makes allies
into enemies,
and drains
dreams.

Burnout.

I am burnt out—
an empty shell
that was once a home,
consumed by arson,
charred to black—
spirit sent to the sky
in clouds that choke
and mock the moonlight.

But I'm not built from
kindling and logs.
I'm a brick house,
mighty and holding nothing back,
and I do still hold the winning hand.
This was a newsflash and only that.
I can be rebuilt to truly last.

Not a terminal disease—
a temporary disaster.
A gift disguised as destruction
and an order with no instructions.

But angels sleep upon the ash tonight
and in the morning all will be right.
Dreams will be solid—burnt will be bright.