Despondency in Sorrow’s Thrall
I walk the paths along the coast,
Atop the cliffs, where flowers boast,
In finery and dapper dress,
A lone adventuress.
The daylight waning into grey,
The golden moonlight on display,
Above the silence of the bay,
I softly slip away.
Down the steps and o’er the sands,
Unto the rocky shadowlands,
The water speaking soft commands,
My spirit understands.
Seeking out the arching caves—
The darkness that my being craves,
The rippling of the little waves,
A lullaby that saves.
Carrying a pain so tight,
Into the solace of the night,
The demons that bereave my plight,
Acerbic to my sight.
Loss that cuts me to the core,
The barbs of pain that I deplore,
Forsaken to a sorry shore,
In anger I abhor.
Despondency in sorrow’s thrall,
Bereft of hope and wherewithal,
Enveloped in my ashen shawl,
I slump and start to bawl.
Weeping out the rawness there,
Till wetness marks my tangled hair,
The sobs that jolt in mad despair,
My brokenness so bare.
Repression steely and devout,
Confined inside now coming out,
My protestations like a shout,
My lips a bitter pout.
Hands so tightly gripped in pain,
The fever pitch of long disdain,
Catharsis such a happy gain,
A balm unto my brain.
Echoes chase throughout the space,
Like ricochets that sing disgrace,
Resounding from my teary face,
In overwhelming pace.
Numbness cast and endless vast,
Purgation of the stain at last,
Bemusement landing, now aghast,
To satiation passed.
Enough, that is enough today,
This ritual against dismay,
This bath to wash my pain away,
My wits in disarray.
Up again and o’er the beach,
Perusing all her sandy reach,
Embracing all she has to teach,
Her healing I beseech.
Then along the cliffs again,
My self rebuke in sad refrain,
Such emptiness I’ll na’er explain,
A weird Bermuda drain.
Moonlight there upon the way,
The path in serpentine display,
Ascending up the darksome brae,
Where gulls and egret play.
Back again into the town,
The dampness thick upon my gown,
An exorcism of the frown,
That stays and brings me down.
Resounding silence in the black,
Cocooned with blankets on my back,
Sweet absolution borne of lack,
My limbs bereft and slack.
Then to sleep no more to weep,
Enveloped in her ghostly keep,
My tears of mourning start to seep,
Away in bedclothes deep.
adamdaniel 