gfukes

Reign of the Melancholy (or, Small Revolution)

Despite the crickets and the trees,
Despite the brooks and creeks, and sea,
Despite the coffee, wine, and tea-
Despite the young men and their ease,
Despite the girls with curls and tease,
Despite the foliage and autumn breeze-
My dear, the reign of melancholy-

Swooped down like vulture, beast of prey,
A sadness, hungered by the weight,
Of time, and loss, and grief... all that may
Keep sunlit laughter, far at bay-
And in the brightness of the sun,
The reigning sadness mocks and shuns
The gold and grace still offered, still,
Accessible to us, at will-
And still, the heart hurts, still, grieve- still!
It never healed- perhaps never will...

And still-
Despite disaster and despair,
Despite our bone-tiredness and fear,
Despite the times the sky broke in two,
and they swore they'd never return to you-
And all the seasons bowed their heads,
Under the reign of Lack and Dread-
And still, we wept,
Yet still, we fought,
and wandered through the days, distraught,
and beckoned to the sun- return!
And still it hurt, still it burned-
Still,
At will, we sought-
healing under desolate stars,
healing of our soul-depth scars,
A dream to fix the ache of gods,
A dare to space - go break the odds!

Despite its reign,
It cannot rule.
Despite the pain
We fashion tools-
And in our war we're victors born,
Precisely from the places we've been torn,
Precisely because there was a war,
Precisely because its weight we bore-

And though
It brought us to our knees-
We still will find, one day, the joy-
Unadulterated and deep and free
In every bird, and bee, and tree.

 

Comments1

  • Bing

    Wonderful never give in message. I think it's great how you speak of finding the joy too, as if it was always there, just waiting. Really lovely, thank you.



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.