The Cuckoo

The pain I suffer from cries out in shame
That I its burden can no more endure.
But "be or not to be" is just some claim
Depression has on me I but abjure.

The need I have to love is there indeed.
Though dying it is not completely dead,
But stirs each night while jumping on its steed
To gallop off and dream of debs in bed.

The hope I have to touch some soul lives on
In poetry and words of wedded woe.
But fear I'll fare alone haunts me anon
As off to self-discovery I go.

For how to share my life with someone new
While wisdom won from wincing's caught no clue?