Bezmelnitsin's Gallery :: Denis Bezmelnitsin : "Sadness"

Denis Bezmelnitsin

Sadness
A wounded moth toss'd in the gloom
Of moonless sadness; blear ooze
Is stretching on the sky, a grime
Of mire underneath my feat, and night -
She too deplore the love that gone.
Forlorn in fen of melancholy my olden cot -
The thoughts, the dreams - they sink,
And what is left? - Only memory; Maybe
With birds of morrow I shall fly
Away, away with morning tide...
They cry and call me, "Thou art a wind,
Away with us to clime of Spring." But hist!
I want to grieve alone in dark,
I want to melt and be the night; this garb
Of vanishing to dress, to disappear
As tear in abysm, ere
The sunrise... This ale of pain shall I
Quaff thoroughly. Do cleave, O heart of mine,
In smouldering sparks - the stars to illuminate
The blackness of this night; And dissipate,
O wind, the ash of love that used to be;
O rain, cry over me, cry over me...
Distil the amethyst among the ruins burnt;
O ye, whose heart is broken, learn,
That pain is gate whereto the light is shed,
You'll gain your gem, be frank and never break
One's heart; Ask God for help,
He will allay thy pain. And yet,
With chime of dawn I shall away
Unto the land of limpid lakes...

July 2017