Beautiful Melancholy

In the winter you hurt me deeply, but it was in the summer that I wept.
The high potency of passion mixed with anguish is a painful purge.
The process is slow and deliberate; it cannot be rushed.
Lingering essence of you stalks and torments.
In the lonely hours I drink the cup of sweet reminisce; Intoxication is immediate.
In a lover’s cafe a sad pianist plays the keys of a Steinway beautifully.

Memories of love and endless ecstasy while tears fall is beautiful melancholy.


Act 1: He is born into the world with the pain and screams of his mother. After the agony of labor, sweat and tears, a smile is garnered. A soft blanket. The warmth of a mother’s love. A soft kiss.

Act 2: His pain is immeasurable; his suffering endless. Rough drafts of his epitaphs are written in blood. Hemoglobin is bright red in his fiery veins; life is in him, but more and more he craves the perceived stillness and peace of death.

Act 3: He is reborn as his constant screams reverberate under a blood moon and a darkened sky. He is reborn with tears streaming and in stark nakedness. The grey wolves hear his piercing cries; they howl. The earth is shaken. The gods turn their heads and weep.