Melancholic Mediocrity

Melancholic flame of autumn’s ache burns,

Surging fires spread upon the hillside’s crest -

I watch and don a mask of foreshadowing,

One of unearthed, overwhelming sadness.

Oh, fragile mask, I weep at your weakness

For my fortitude is but withered, dying leaves

Adrift in the burning garden of my soul;

A deep-seated flame of life’s emotional decline.

*

I manage to greet the throngs and still smile

In a thinly-veiled disguise which none can see.

My mask, its edges burnt, covers my scars

And delays the curious inquisitions

Whilst in me the hunt for elusive peace remains.

With fierceness, melancholic flames spread,

Wreaking havoc and singeing my heart in a

A thirst driven drought in need of sustenance.

*

Ache of autumn gives way to bursting flames,

Winter descends rapidly in haunting fires,

Murmuring and manipulating edges of my life.

A frozen river spreads into the final edges

All resistance is relinquished with a reckoning

Of cold, encroaching petulance and darkness.

A sound breaks the silence of my existence –

Iced waters fracture, melancholy succumbs.

*

Alas, my breath releases, uncaged without effort,

A sigh so grand, though none hear its calm allure;

The mask breaks loose, unfettered and falls free,

Beneath the defiled marble of my former facade

Is but a hollow, burnt shell of all I ever was.

Derived from flames of melancholic mediocrity

I now wear a new mask displaying my last face

Forged from the fires of fate's dilatory release.

*

Dedicated to Joan and all others who may have struggled with or succumbed to suicide’s release.