Sometimes a Sadness Calls

Sometimes I allow sadness in, a nostalgia for sadness keeps me buoyant between troubled waves. At times, I might drift like smoke into a grey street, enter a sad house and play some melancholy music. When the dead come calling and regrets shuffle out of the shadows I invite them in, but they can’t stay. I tell them I am on my way to clearer skies, though sometimes as far as I can see there are none. I have been here before, and commence to look around for a half-closed or half-open window. That’s one way to leave the blues, but you have to decide which is which. As always, God snaps fingers under my nose and I laugh out loud from a brighter side of town.