Besides short stories, I also used to write some (pretty damn dark) poetry when I was younger. Most of it was bad or really bad, but there were some exceptions. I nearly always wrote in English, which is why I'm posting this in English as well. It's one of the few exceptions, a not too crappy piece of poetry. Anyway, that's what I think.
The Spring has come ?
Birds are singing in the trees
The grass is green, trees are making leaves
Few clouds in the light-blue sky
Sun's gaze so warm, Summer must be nigh
I listen to the soft sounds of a stream
Last remnants of Winter - now a molten dream
I see joy, excitement, in people's faces
Happiness fills even the gloomiest places
I look at this world's emerging from the frost
It seems filled with something I've already lost
Remembering those dark Winter nights
I gaze upon Summer's praised midnight lights
There seems to be life where ever I turn my eyes
But inside my soul - just permafrost and ice...
Written in Spring 1998
I had been depressed for most of my life by then, but around the time I wrote this, I was slowly getting out of the worst low - the previous three years or so. A few years later I'd finally be out of it completely. But the downside is that I didn't much write poetry or even fiction afterwards - and it's been ten years! (The only fiction I've done since is with Role Playing Games.) Everything has a price, I guess.