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