Sullen Night

In my darkest nights when sorrow calls soft
and ghosts of an anguished past do lament,
how eagerly these burning tears stream aloft
drowning sunken lids of the mind's dement.
Carefully broken piece by piece in vain,
this weak heart of grave hopelessness shattered,
merely glass beneath the quilt scarred with stain
wearing with the countless dreams battered.
Droplets dampen coarse pillow sheets unwashed,
a canvas of memory I daren't free,
for fear of misplacing what was once loved
to a suffering in shy misery.
Quietly pressed to the tattered mattress,
laying in the shadow of my sadness.