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.