Are gone the days
When melancholic poetry
Evoked a sense of beauty?
Tragedies could be undisguised,
Death could be mentioned, and
Cheery verses were anathema.
Where am I today,
That just the hint of sadness
In prose or lyrical meter
Is met with glazed eyes?
The unsaid pain
That wells up and
And the heaviness inside -
Can't these hearts bear
The burden of another tear?
Ah, this world in all its glory!
It's joys with its tragedies,
It's lush meadows alongside dark woods,
With it's fine and vile inhabitants -
If not for the rough edges,
Would we ever know good from evil?
⁂
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