The Sorrow

The sorrow

The sorrow is a black stone that weighs me down
It is a harsh and frigid winter morning of pale grey light
It is a brisk feathered breeze off the ocean of your absence
The sorrow is found in the solitude of your silence
In each thought that trails back to you and lingers there
It lies in the pit of my belly
Curling into a constant ache
The sorrow clings a mask of regret upon my face
Its eyes are an endless crimson sky
Its mouth a gaping wound that swallows my heart in mournful wail
The sorrow feeds itself
Expanding in this Universe of inbetween sky and reason
And burns out the sun in its pain
Burdens the soul with things left undone
and smudges the edges of each new day
The sorrow brings little comfort or joy
A discoloration of content
It is every stolen breath
It is the end of peace
The sorrow is a season
Long and slow like shadows that stretch out
Tumbling and gushing like the ebb and flow on the sea of my hope
That soon a new dawn will come