Melancholia
Gifted to the special and
wrapped in a blanket without
purpose, a meaningless tableau
of different faces, each palette
empty of colour
Functional shut down.
Exhaustion to the very core.
This world of hawks and jackals
scavenging the very soul,
and bleak mid-winter lasting
every revolution of the sun
Too much time to strike a chord,
too much effort to tune a note.
Surrounded by orchestras of vibrant sound
going about their business
Too much concrete for the joints to move.
Waiting for a salvation no longer embraced,
yet confirmed in a single moment
The shadows cast are long and late.
The frieze has been re-joined.
Tomorrow shall be time enough
to return this special gift
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