Melancholy
Sometimes that old familiar mood
Creeps up, all gray and thick
Like fog on a summer morning
A comforting well worn shawl
To outlying chill
Often the mood comes on quietly
A virus in the dark of night
Stealing any objectivity or zest for living
Leaving furrowed brow, wringing hands
Posture slumped, turned inwards
Sometimes suddenly
Like the bite of freshly cut onions
Squeezing out non-stop tears
Attempting to wash away
Sewage, after the storm
It is a stark outline of self
Reflected on the tomb wall
Encased underground in dank darkness
Waiting for changing cycles of the moon
To walk among the living once more
Copyright 1998 Cynthia L. Bryant
Author's Note: I have recently self-published a book of poems titled Dark Mother-Living on the Borderline . I am selling it for $9.00 that includes the cost of shipping. Please allow 3 weeks for shipping.Email this author. .