ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY

THIS poem as an exploration of melancholy, isolation, and the longing for artistic expression and recognition. The language employed conveys a sense of desolation and introspection, as well as a yearn

IN Melancholy's harsh embrace,

Ne'er finds delight, nor life's sweet trace,

Each plea unto my heart's lone space,

In heedless silence, falls from grace.

THIS portal, reared in passion's hour,

Once vibrant as the boldest flower,

Now hangs, a drooping stem, devoured -

Such, I deem, my soul's dour bower!

IN the scorn of public cheer,

I yearn to sow words, crystal clear,

And witness bloom, far and near,

The florid garden of the Seer!

ERE Spring's approach your senses thrill,

Have you seen the bluejay trill?

Its song an echo, soft and still,

In the vales of Hope, against the chill.

:: 04-10-2015 ::

Author's Note

Seems I write too much about my poems. I leave it to you to understand.

Reviews

[Coffee Vampier]

I had to summon this problem... here we go.

I drown all these days out with memories of the past But my pasts not my future and the melancholy Is a part of me and the past of repetitious serendipity It’s okay that this social anxiety is getting a big part of me These words are color coating us And maybe that’s the best part of who we are

Never felt cold and up to par They say you’re not going to far But it’s the moon I want to reach Never gunna touch the stars!

Us is in this galaxy and they say there’s more fish in the sea However, none of them look good you see I wanna start a legacy but I hit rock bottom So what does it matter if there are more star’s way up on high Why does everybody lie! Oh, the memories of who I used to be They world is made for you me Is this really our Earth or are we going to hit oblivion Like the parasite killing me

Broke my arm climbing a tree It’s okay that this social anxiety is getting a big part of me These words are color coating us And maybe that’s the best part of who we are Never felt cold and up to par They say you’re not going to far But it’s the moon I want to reach Never gunna touch the stars! Never lay next to dying fame Running all direction But the dreams in me and I In the end we all die What is fame if no one plays fair?

I like the long Authors notes. They teach more I wish I knew what to say but word break.

[E.P. Robles]

Memories of the past, drowned out in a desperate attempt to escape, while the melancholy, an inseparable part, weaves a repetitive tapestry of serendipity. Social anxiety takes its toll, consuming a significant part of one's being, as words become the vibrant hues that coat our existence, perhaps revealing the very essence of who we truly are.

Amidst the struggle, the cold touch of inadequacy is felt, as others declare limits to our aspirations, deeming them unworthy of soaring too far. Yet, it is not the stars that beckon, but the elusive moon, a symbol of unattainable dreams. This vast universe holds us within its galaxy, while the notion of abundant options fades, for none seem to captivate with a visual allure. Yearning to forge a lasting legacy, yet finding oneself at rock bottom, the celestial bodies high above lose significance, as lies permeate the fabric of existence. Oh, the memories of a former self, as if the world were crafted for our own delight. Is this truly our Earth, or are we destined to be consumed by oblivion, like a parasite devouring from within?

A broken arm serves as a physical reminder of vulnerability, paralleling the growing dominance of social anxiety. Once again, words assume their vivid role, coating us with their colorful essence, perhaps offering solace in the recognition of our shared struggles. The chill of unfulfillment and the verdict of not reaching far echo in our ears, while the moon's allure remains steadfast, forever beyond our grasp. And as we never lie beside dying fame, we run in countless directions, as dreams intertwine with our essence, knowing that in the end, mortality claims us all. What value does fame hold if fairness is absent from its realm? I appreciate all your words

[Lorry]

Melancholy is the enemy of love, withering thoughts before they have a chance to bloom and grow, yet they are a part of us all at times and are like weeds in a garden, in constant need of pruning and keeping under control.
We have sadness within us just as there is joy and hope. It is about finding the right balance and speed to live our life that is the really hard part.
An honest write, which is the only way we can write poetry.

[E.P. Robles]

In the realm of love's enchanting dance,
Melancholy lurks, casting its somber glance.
A foe it seems, to passion's glowing flame,
Withering thoughts, a cruel and subtle game.

But behold! It dwells within our mortal core,
A shadowed companion we cannot ignore.
Like weeds in a garden, it sprouts and thrives,
In moments when love's light no longer strives.

Yet, let us not dismiss this melancholic guest,
For within its depths, a truth we can attest.
In joy's embrace, we find respite and delight,
But sorrow's touch unveils a different sight.

[Sami Khalil]

Hope springs eternal. Keep on writing. It will help you. To be able to write down your thoughts, feelings is a gift; now to share is another free gift.

[E.P. Robles]

In the ink of hope's eternal wellspring, words dance and melodies sing, guiding hearts through life's winding trails. So wield your pen, let it soar and inspire, for in the act of writing, souls find solace and fire.

[Sami Khalil]

Wow! So true and well said. Thank you kindly for sharing

[Chris Shaw]

Feel free to leave your notes. No one is forced to read them. It is a matter of choice. Yes, I sense sadness and isolation in these lines, along with the chill and scorn. Your references to nature here are much admired. Nature can be such a healer at times and where the blue jay trills, there is always hope.

Chris

[E.P. Robles]

I want friends. Poets. To be my friends. But there is a lot of fear. Not for what I write but that I might find I am sincerely alone.

[E.P. Robles]

EMOTIONAL STATE

My emotional state,
so dilapidated
-- a ruinous estate

:: 10-20-2014 ::

[Chris Shaw]

I have seen other poets call on your work. I think you do have friends here. They don’t just appear over night. They need to be nurtured. It’s a two way thing. Keep on posting.

Chris

[E.P. Robles]

I had to erase a few paragraphs just to get to: THANK YOU.

[Chris Shaw]

The thank you means so much

[E.P. Robles]

I was afraid it might sound arrogant. I have nothing like that in my bones or soul.

[Chris Shaw]

A thank you will never come across as arrogant. Not acknowledging someone’s review though, might.

[E.P. Robles]

I am not very good in spital time. My aunt tonight chastised me for the very same thing. I love her very much. I am just so deep in my writing. I need to write about that. I don't want to seem aloof.

[Chris Shaw]

You are engaging with poets on this site. I do not see you as being aloof. Keep posting your work and in the manner of your choosing.