Upon the fragile note...A Poem by N/Aauto-ish, and upon a bad day
With each step does melancholy Threaten to rise,
I hold back my tears; Shield my eyes, from the taunting sunlight of a million happy dreams. Set to haunt my memories; darkness seeping through their seams. I am not, made for this high tide of woe, which kills every memory of bluebells. Cauterizes the very soul. O alas, for thy embers which now burn ever brighter, I cannot hold, though I cling ever tighter. Scorched are my hands, with thyself summer sun. And, tired are my legs; though I wish to run, run distance endless, to get away from this melodious bitterness, that diffuses the intellect, and distils fear in the soul. It is not through complaining that my pen writes, but through wondering if this is my only right? I wish for forests, a distance to walk. Where none shall disturb. Where only the birds talk. A river, to watch and in which to lose myself, to cool the burning embers, to wish me good health. But, alas, what is the point in wishing. Everything I Love, is unobtainable... With each step does melancholy Threaten to rise,
I hold back my tears; Shield my eyes, from the taunting sunlight of a million happy dreams. Set to haunt my memories; darkness seeping through their seams. © 2010 N/AReviews
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