The grief of the willow tree

The memory of the fallen with its saddened melancholy self with its own self ashamed of one's self-hatred which once brings upon one's self-interest to a new spirit of uplifting joy to the willow tree why do they bring pain once more upon my fallen heart which has been shattered for many years why bring me to this pain of only wishing to see once more to only bring the forgotten soul  of one's old self-love and happiness to bring only pain to the stone heart of your tomb to bring disease and pain  to only help the one which is dead of self putrid which has been brought upon to the uplifting heaven where nothing has started and ended to only bring oneself ruin to the shambles of the mankind to only bring forth the one that has been sought through the ages only to give one's image in a new virtue where only the disappearance of one's shell shall remain of the new fogy self were pain shall strike were no other  has to the mind of the tortured soul which envelopes in yourself of self pity which has sprung upon to jump with joy of the dance of the mirror  to see only glory but shame of the poisoned mind is only what shall be shown through the drums of oneself interest to dance and cry in this new glimmering light which it gallops upon it's sinful glory which shall shape the mind of unease which shall bring the sword of shame and unethical hatred upon other's who shall run into worry of oneself dreams of the new and the triumphs of the old where only the old of self hanging of one's dream where only the ungrown play and the music of the rattling shell of forsaken shall spread to depths unknown to each other only to hear the cries  of one's own weeping self and where angels  where the only gospel of unturned souls shall lay in one's dreary tears of sadness of the fallen ash shall come to unlighten  with bitter cold of the blood stained self of memory of the few which shall gallop once more for the triumphant last tail of one's self which shall be thought upon by the few and many of it's unraveling tail to bring upon triumph into one's soul glimmering in it's own grief of it's own disheveled self were only to bury it's self so other's can flutter like how it's self use to , to only be thwarted by life's unfairness to bring happiness with it's roll of the dice where only the few go to take upon it's undefeated deal to bring sorrow into one's muddled life of assertiveness where only pages if one's life shall be lifted to be real once more when one see's it's own reflection of unhappiness why bring me to this point of distraught you foul world named life why bring grief with a knife which shall become dull because of how many you have slaughtered and gathered in herds to just burn because of the person's dream why oh melancholy world why bring distraught into the home of the one's  hardened life with only the one joy to spring to the table of the poor and unloved to be sought out and tortured  by only ones dreams of which has been taken so many times before and few at the same time they ask to bring pain in a white splattered form it will only cause more of one's self loathing and hatred to be intertwined to make tears of joy to sail to one's dream even if failure shall come with it and to overcome such failure shall always lurk by.