when we are weak
self doubt is a close companion
and the madness of this life
it never ends, it comes again, it hammers in
when the heart is empty
the tongue lacks pleasing phrases
and the beauty we posses
is desert rays, a thousand days, an ugly haze
when we shudder at tomorrow’s coming
for every morning the same fears call
our feet no longer want to dance
they hear no song, their steps drag on, the miles long
look into your past you broken hearted
listen for the voice of hope that calls
she will tell you tales already known by your heart
she bids recall, of times before, old melanchol
she cries, “Walk in the graveyard of your heart.
Stroll in the shadows of death in your soul.
The air is thick with the stench of despair.
Your heart was low, the beat was slow, and full of woe.
You rose from your casket scarred but living.
The words upon the slab ring stark and bold.
HERE LAY ONE IN THE WINTER OF HIS HEART
BUT HE IS GONE, FOR SPRING HAS COME, AND DEATH BRINGS WISDOM”