Must and Melancholy

A gray mass sows
in a state of short breath.
Suicide dines on
soliloquies of death.

Dischord knells from
a guitar string's rust.
Thy fallow fugue fractures
my ethos' crust.

Stability suffers sweetly in
the parlour room of treason.
Betrayal is but the sour scent
in a dreary draft of reason.

Thy soot of suffering enamels
my fireplace of reprieve.
"Stoke these embers and let
my flames rise up", I grieve.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Melancholy painted vividly in 50 shades of gray! The bleakness is palpable. Full of interesting alliteration: "fallow fugue fractures" . . . "Stability suffers sweetly" . . . & the last stanza is a culmination of all your brilliant creative techniques, but not sounding overly crafted, just dripping with sorrow. I love the ashes / soot / embers analogy, along with the parting desire for "flames to rise up."

[Dalton]

I thought I replied to this earlier. Thank you for your words! You've noticed a lot, and I too like the final line myself.
Warm regards,
D

[jacob erin-cilberto]

excellent use of personification, especially appreciate the second stanza...reminds me of someone i knew...the guitar strings tug my heart strings because of her.

[Dalton]

Thank you kindly, sir.
If we're alike, I'd repeat all the endeavours of my heart all over again, just the same.
Sincerely,
Dalton