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~ Melancholy ~
~ " Taedium Vitae " ~
Do you hear the silence? It is the sound of the universe in sorrowful abandon. Must the morn’ taunt these unearthly wounds? The sweetest trill from a warbling pipit pierces the sombre chill air, mocking a broken heart as she waspishly perches upon the churchyard wall where we secretly scribed our names in ardent fervour. An umbrous nova cast by our picnic Yew, now whips the autumn greys with taloned branches, clutching ripples with clawed twigs that seek to rip and tear the sky’s sober reflection in puddles of mud, with their seasoned nakedness.
Nightfall arrives after a hollow day, where one can hear the snuffling tones of tears which crash love to the floorboards; gravity’s planks soak the seeping of stories heard before. How far we have fallen! – was there ever a passion that has descended further than this? Surely no thing created, nor unseen has dared to touch absolute zero – the cold, that is now our mystery, is shunned by even the infernal; too much for any creature to bear.
The wood pigeon mimics a shying owl during the graveyard hours, gurgling chimes of their dissent. Come and see what your brand of amity has done to us! You raped our heart to give still-birth to deformity, whose horror haunts ghosts. Verily, Angels cover their glorious eyes with eternal wings – what have you done? You’ve hobbled thy pen, and taken hostage thy quill to make slave, sharp words, which indite thee.
Thou lived in thy strings as they vibrated with the beauteous tones of allegiance, syncopating for thee alone, now ta’en. Shall the wind consent to remember, as thy soulful oblations flew upon her wings to carry my song to you?
Will a moment of love outweigh a lifetime of heartache? Wishing wells regurgitate thy coins; cursed fortune-tellers refuse to speak of us. Could a photo ever lie? Was that not you and I, or a figment of the lensman’s happiness? The frame may rust, but trust will not, and love never lies. If only your smile had cracked thy shuttered glass iris, then no more would I have to feast upon this crumb of yesteryear’s celluloid apology for your beauty…..a perfection that needles thee when I saw stardust in your hair and children in thine eyes.
Can you hear that deathly hush? That is the sound of affection no longer begging to live with us. Do not cast blame onto fate or destiny, for thou’est tender mercies proved crueller than their sheathed unknowns.
Fair maiden; thou curtailed the dance and placed romance in trance – now must you be the chosen who pays the piper his fee, for it was his seemly tune which we danced to.
Did you declare the shimmering moon as an apparition? The blinking stars as a mass hallucination of mankind’s vision? Let it be known unto you that our bejewelled canopy was as real as you and I, and as the very breath which ambulates your very form. Has nature’s apprentice befuddled, then tricked lover’s in time, so she may have her way with flesh from our flesh? Did reason divorce thee, and escape your mind? In your malaise, did he smash his fetters, then like a lemming, dive into raptures of the deep, without so much as a ‘ by your leave ? ‘. Does thou betray thine own mortal coil to presently distance thyself from the company of beloved sisters and bretheren? Do you boast that you are as unchanging as the nine celestial planets upon their elliptical voyage? Now must a heavy heart be duly exiled, nay banished, from your presence; though thy own heart longs for thee, shall our future, as Anthony and Cleopatra, sleep the sleep of the dead, poisoned by a selfish soul, to lie discarded amongst a Sahara of forgotten sands.
Perfume, that carried your pulchtritude to me, must be recanted; memories shall be undone. When you think of thee, thou wilt be found sailing upon your tears, doomed to tack the tempest of thine rivers of grief.
As I withdraw my love, the telamon obelisk of your world, will remove his strain, as the whole edifice comes down to crash about the unworthy, for you forsook your only true love.