Melancholy's Chain

                                              


When the crash of morning wrecks into the day,
and the sun forgets to shine, heaps of sadness
headlines the fraught of misery,
contentment's desertion cleaves what's
left of the day, for nature's nihil debet 
to an explanation why she forgot to 
squander her sparing sunlight through 
your inconsolable window;
there's no admonition for sorrow's knock,
she enters always without a warrant, 
barges in your psyche like some burrowing
nefarious worm and there she finds refuge in your
discontentment, though one sunlight of
a gleaming beam will render reprieve from 
her bonds and you run into the light
honoring this radiance that subdues this
sufferance for another day. 

by John Hardesty