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 Oct 2015
Hank Helman
Odd
What an odd ingredient sadness is.  

It salts a tear, bittersweets a kiss,
Hungers us for the things we miss,
Ever abundant, such a convenient thing,
I can find it in everything.

A death, a birth, I cry for both,
Gild a sorrow, a wistful hope,
Ripe melancholy I savour most,
Yet a pinch too much is a lethal dose.

I was often told it shouldn’t be,
But the clown that frowns was the perfect me,
Thin taunt and cackle, ghosts everywhere,
Sometimes I hide, but it’s still right there.

Perhaps I’ll woo this lifelong friend,
Embrace this thing I cannot mend.
Odd comfort in a peculiar way,
To know this thing is here to stay.
Is sadness a bad thing?  Why?

— The End —