MELANCHOLY

When I say my heart bleeds,

I do not speak of its pumping function.

I mean my heart feels like it has been stabbed repeatedly with a sharp knife,

But I cannot break open my chest to tend to it,

And so it bleeds…and bleeds.

 

When I say I wail,

I do not speak of a baby’s cries.

I mean I shed a river of tears, without a sound.

They do not hear so they do not know.

I cannot be comforted,

And so I wail…and wail.

 

When I say I am in deep sorrow,

I do not speak of mere sadness,

I mean I feel agony tear through every muscle, vessel, nerve in my body.

It is overwhelming but I cannot stop it.

I endure as it wracks through me in repeated waves,

And so I sorrow…and sorrow.

 

When I say I grieve,

I do not speak as of moirologists.

I mean I am in great distress and affliction, hurting from mind to sole,

As if scorched by an unquenchable fire.

I writhe and run from it but alas, it is one with me.

And so I grieve…and grieve.

 

My bleeding heart,

My silent wails,

My agonizing sorrow,

My burning grief,

I feel…I feel them all…all at once.