Sadness

It preys on those without,

Slowly attacking within,

With the covers of his bed drawn about

Him he looks ill and thin —

Sunken in a deep depression,

Society fades in the shade of recession.

The soul dwindles

As the fire poverty kindles

Burns him like misery in flames

Of prolonged obsession,

He’s forgotten all his friend’s names,

All of them just a faceless procession.

He slips into gloom,

Only seeing doom —

He’s trapped in a room

Where he’s lost the key

And the man with the broom

Has swept away the free.

Seconds are seeds for long minutes,

Which branch out and turn into hours,

From hours the long day flowers,

The month is a trunk

Which all the junk

Of depression falls in,

And even when he tries to begin

Again the year quickly sours,

Sadness sits in one of its ivory towers,

Unassailable to all it appears —

Nothing gets through to the bringer of tears.

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