A Melancholic
A disease intrinsic and quiet
infesting a soul which submissively accepts
presenting self inflicting suffering
to the body which covers it.
The record keeper of happiness
loses his work from gross idleness.
The fuel of laughter
even with words and lines so sophisticated
making the inanimate change state
cannot drag a drop of smile
from this soul so wary and pressed.
Company is replaced with tears
and all feelings, compressed into one.
Cracking an egg shell from its edges
is simpler than distinguishing its moods.
What a soul!
Why were you created when nature was sad?
Why were you formed when the gods were asleep?
Why were you blessed when the daughters of cheerfulness were drunk?
The cloth of loneliness
and the perfume of silence,
you need to unwear no matter how hard.
This will put on the light of proper existence
for you to bathe in the spring
of Life's beautiful varieties!
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