Melancholy
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” —Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan
Shadows lengthen on empty streets;
Whispers echo in silent rooms.
Hearts yearn for what cannot be grasped—
Who can fathom such dooms?
Some chase phantoms in the night;
Some sink into memories deep.
Others dance with ghosts from the past,
Still others only sit and weep.
Stretching fingers reach for the stars
While others clutch at the open air.
Some drink from wells of grief,
While others drown in a sea of despair.
Yet desires burn eternal, even as hopes wane,
As dreams haunt the hollows of the aching brain.
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