the life breathing in will quell the dread of a burning day before you; for, in the mornings, the air is fresh and chilled,
and you may graze in the openness

until the flowers fulfill you,
awaken you.

Take your forest path, your field trail, the one you marked yourself
for these moments. And bring the dogs,
let their leashes be loose,
let your soul be freed here, in this scenery.

spring is hardly sure it loves the summer sun,
till the wind is warm and fruitful.

step outside the fire circle,
be swallowed by the night,
step farther into the night,
be swallowed by the stars.

for every thing, there is a time
for every song, there is a fitting moment
for every angel, a wee devil lurks
for every spring, its autumn

for every taste, there is a canvas blank
for every brush, there is a stroke unfinished
for every soul, there is a soul to spark
for every universe, a mind undiminished

for every beating heart, there is a dream to dream
for every happy day, there is a week of sorrow
for every wicked game, there is a sumptuous scene
for every yester-day, a million of to-morrows

for every tear you cry, there is a genuine smile
for every doubt you shed, there is a triumph to follow
for every faux pas, there's a saving grace
for every second gone, a million of to-morrows

Melancholy.
A pretty word
with such a sad heart.
Makes you wonder
what made it so.

Melancholy.
The way it's said
so passively,
inattentively,
ignorantly,
makes me want to
scream.

Melancholy.
The word is reverent
and should be treated so.
A beautiful expression
to be used with care,
if you please.

Melancholy.
It's not sickly sweet
like some of the others,
yet not too sour either.
A little bit salty,
like tears.
But really,
who hasn't tasted their own?

Melancholy.
The word flows like a river
of tears down a cheek.
One filled with regret,
sorrow, loneliness.

Melancholy.
The more I say it
the more I like it.
The way it drifts,
and takes my thoughts with it.
Not to a happy place,
but a place of quiet,
sad thoughts.

Melancholy.
Even the word itself
draws me to it.
I think it is,
in part,
because I relate.
Sometimes,
it seems,
we are all
melancholy.
And I am but one
in a million
who feels it too.