The sadness in a verse — the written line
That falters in its message. Words mean naught —
To recollect the feeling (such as mine),
Regardless of the lessons we’ve been taught —
This world is left to us, between worlds caught.
A remedy? There never was a cure,
Perhaps we all in some way must endure
This sense of suffering dark and lonely nights
To think of why; in some way reassure
Our self that all is well as sorrow writes.
When heartbeats sing a soft but saddened song,
A melody that overwhelms the fire —
Surcease of sorrow! How could this be wrong
When wanton thoughts can douse a soul’s desire,
Yet truth will make us out to be the liar.
Desire, a wish? Is’t lust? An aching heart —
Lord tell us! How it is, these feelings start,
When all we want; to find that special one:
O’ just the thought, to never be apart
Will never compensate — ’tis better none!
The wretched scratch of inkless pen on page,
It laughs, it jeers; so hideous is its sound —
Like claws that gouge to stir a lover’s rage
And o’r and o’r again, cruel heartbeats pound
Until all hope is lost, for hope has drowned.
It drowns with screams of torment; raging fires,
Cursed flames that lick until the want expires —
The pounding! Breathless! Pounding — How it wells!
And nothing stops the sound of fiendish choirs
That bound their dirge to where our loving dwells!
But sadness is a song too often sung,
To different tunes, the words are just the same.
In verses failed, defeated, heads are hung
And all that’s left, is only in the name
Of some poor sod who tried to play the game.
This night — a night so dark, it all seems lost —
We give our all, regardless of the cost,
Our dwindling flame — extinguish it. You might
Pretend, but in the fiercest tempest tossed:
A single ray can pierce the dark of night.