Tuesday, June 26, 2012

A Different Kind of Sadness

The problem is not darkness.
I enjoy the dark,
And I can see the elegance
In a raven's proud black head,
Can sense the mystery
Of the shadows and
Walk the roads nocturnally
Without a fearful thought.

Nor is it a coldness.
I do not shiver.
The cold can call for romance
If it prompts a pair's embrace,
Ice can sooth or remedy
The aches of tired limbs,
A chill wind on a body
Is a thrill more than a pain.

This is a different kind of sadness.
There is no joy in it,
Unwelcome, arriving unannounced,
It smoulders dully, never sparking,
Lingering persistently,
A drain on energy and hope and strength,
Neither cold nor dark, but lonely,
A fear of healing touch and company.

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