Sorrow
Sorrow
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Crowgod by Apterus |
A blessing we all thought it was,
Riddled us with a childish cause.
Such theatrics, worthy of an applause,
All was in harmony, now in dust.
Before Sorrow came the Joy.
Filled us with joy the young boy,
Ah, what years he would enjoy,
If he hadn't seen the drawers of the highboy.
One drawer revealed the another,
Such plague could even kill the earth mother.
Blimey, such beauty to claim!
No room to shame, I am to blame.
The young boy was a dweller,
Finding beauty in a wine cellar.
Is it your strongest suit
to have your love in dispute?
One tear flooded the heart,
Yet it couldn't take our sins apart.
My dear Joy, lost its harmony,
Whipped with hatred, burnt in ash,
Memories made a splash.
An angel it was, Joy was no more,
His wings were only sore.
The face he once used to embrace,
Melted into a cup for her to drink.
Capturing his remains, a gullible chase,
Joy became Sorrow, her wings now inked.
No face, yet he could scream,
Was it his nightmare or her dream?
No sound, yet he could cry,
Our end was nigh.
Atop her throne, Sorrow awaits.
Watching till the day of trial arrives.
Sharp tears, onyx wings, black hands,
The judgment still stands.
November 28th, 2022
No joy.
There exist things such as songs, pictures, animals, quotes, words, sounds, colors, and people reminiscent of better times when we felt like there was a flame keeping us alive. I despise the need to have an obligation, which tells me to look back, in order to rejuvenate because to rejuvenate, one must lose youth, energy, or joy. Perhaps the definition is not as alien as I expect it to be. Alas, no one will care about these sounds, words, verses or emotions simply because there is no space, time or need to keep them close. And just like that, I find no joy in anything. There is no need to cry or shout when the void is at its absolute.
I hate to say this, but I wish I was in the past.
Sorrow was one of the many amalgams presented in my poem titled "The Poem About A Trial". One down, others to follow.
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