Pessimist’s Grief

This is only a poem, a product of imagination. Life is still beautiful!

Hold back not the dismal tears,

Let them burst out through the years.

Their reservoir never dries,

Like rich fountain as one cries.

 

Hide your face in veil of sorrow,

For delight is hard to borrow.

When you dream of ecstasy,

There comes only fantasy.

 

Yes, happiness is illusion,

In this world of tribulation.

As you, swiftly glance…everywhere,

Misery waves from here and there.

 

Try; color your soul with gloomy hue,

Then permit darkness to swallow you.

Think of a place to hideaway,

Where all the things are just pure play.

 

There, listen to some lullabies,

Of groaning woes and poignant sighs.

And in your solitude, slumber…

Your tortured spirit cursed by hell!