Sonnet

When despair doth rear its ugly head,

And the soul, like the sun,

Behind a dark cloud has fled.

And you think to yourself: “No more, I am done!”

Trust not what you think, in times such as these,

When by your own stay all joy is denied,

Replaced by laments for yourself and the species.

We sit by the Styx and stare downwards dead-eyed,

Ignoring the barge that traverses the gap.

History tells us that everything passes,

Yet still we insist we are hopelessly trapped,

Hooked on the taste of sorrowful ashes.

Know that the sun cannot remain hidden,

That joy will return, its arrival unbidden.