Melancholy

Melancholy is clay in memory's hands
Moulded into words, Moulded into songs
The heartbreak of losses of things never really owned
And of valor vanquished by superior malevolence
Melancholy gives purpose to the sculptors hammer
It chisels the roughness out of rocks and angrily builds armies that cannot defect
Warriors that cannot be toppled
Melancholy is the poets friend
A muse with a bag of words
Recreating memories best forgotten
Writing histories that never was.
Melancholy creates the passion to cherish
The assurance of things unseen and
The urge to destroy the ones we see.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone