A Broken Melancholy

A single sheet, within it I sheathe;
Worn on a side, undisturbed on the other.
Warm on one side, cold on the other,
The difference making me seethe.

The unseeable border, like a wall of glass;
Like waters of seas that do not mix,
Impenetrable, impermeable, yet strong as bricks,
Containing me, while it outlasts me, alas!

The shadows on the moonlit wall dance;
A petrifying tale of scarcity, gain and loss.
The outlines grow bold, detach and come across,
Catching my chest with teeth, nail and a lance.

A hysterical bellow, and on she turns the light;
Tearing past the silhouttes and the demon,
Embraces me, and leaves me a freeman,
Brings me to senses, and leaves me benight.

I wept into a frenzy, into my part of the sheet;
As I tolerate a brimful dearth of love,
For mine is selfish, needy of the beloved,
And she left, liberated from me as a feat.

A proud and egotistic love, the one I harbour tod;
Seeking it’s one definite other half,
Maybe a love so selfless, be her epitaph,
Is it there or is it not, oh God?

Answer me, O presupposed divine;
Where, when and how does end my drought?
Where to see, hear, search and shout,
Act, show, speak, and rejoinder my whine.

Alas, the God I know is a handicapped one,
  If he’s all seeing, then he’s definitely earless.
If he’s all listening then he’s formless.
And if he’s all doing, then naturally he’s eyeless.
And finally, if he’s all knowing, then his voice is none.

  • Funadrius

 

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