Monday, 2 September 2013

Considering Melancholy

For darkness lives where we abide
Through speech and words it shares itself
Like in the opened mouth of churning tide
Dashing life and voice  to hell.
Or the brain with its unnatural birth
Poised for the twisting of the knife
Is the condition many watch, but never learn
And feel, but most do not survive.
It becomes a bliss one cannot medicate
And lies, elevating subject’s ground
So no one runs to catch them when they fall

And still hear them breathe when they have drowned. 

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