Sweet Sorrow
*Just Venting*
In the dark workings of my mind, she sang to me. Her voice full of sweet sorrow, like a siren calling for the pain to stop. In agony her voice rung out. It was a siren, calling to me. Calling for love, peace, and an end. An end to misery and sadness. Surely she knew such things could not be stopped?
That it was makes pleasure and joy durable. If not, would it be pleasurable and gay if we knew nothing else to compare it to? Still, her tiltilating voice chimed like bells in the summer wind. So breezy, so calm. So horrendous. So melodic. The sound of love. I've swooned and I've sighed before, but nothing as moving as I have done for her.
I don't know her name, so I have named her Sweet Sorrow. My melody in the night, she sings me to sleep. Nothing but dark tales could she tell me, but that was enough. That alone would send me into a deep and peaceful slumber filled with nothing but her voice. She took up no forms in my dreams or reality. She was not real, at least not to others. But to me, she was everything. Everything I dreamt of, everything I was and wasn't, everything I wished to be and more. She slayed my demons and calmed me in my most painful hour. And all this without a draught of sleep or rest. She was and is my always. She'll always be there for me. And, if she would only let me in, I would be there for her.
I promised her this all late one night when the wind was dead, the grass fragrant like lavenders, the tree bark rough and old, and her arms wrapped around me like I was her greedy gold.
She softly muttered to me, "Don't make up such fantasies, sweet. I am nothing but your creative silence. Now sleep, and dream pleasant thoughts of fields of roses and rainbows galore. That is the only place where you can truly behold me."
Could she not see how much in pain I had been as she uttered those words? It was as dooming as death! My Sweet Sorrow did not wish to let me hold her heart. Had she given it to someone else? Was I truly not her beloved? I do not know, for she declined to answer my queries after that bitter sweet night. Forever though, shall I show her the path to true peace and harmony. If it is a stop to pain she wishes, it shall be that in which she gets. I can only hope that she'll know she'll be paving my way to utter destruction as I do this for her, out of love.
For it always out of love.
In the dark workings of my mind, she sang to me. Her voice full of sweet sorrow, like a siren calling for the pain to stop. In agony her voice rung out. It was a siren, calling to me. Calling for love, peace, and an end. An end to misery and sadness. Surely she knew such things could not be stopped?
That it was makes pleasure and joy durable. If not, would it be pleasurable and gay if we knew nothing else to compare it to? Still, her tiltilating voice chimed like bells in the summer wind. So breezy, so calm. So horrendous. So melodic. The sound of love. I've swooned and I've sighed before, but nothing as moving as I have done for her.
I don't know her name, so I have named her Sweet Sorrow. My melody in the night, she sings me to sleep. Nothing but dark tales could she tell me, but that was enough. That alone would send me into a deep and peaceful slumber filled with nothing but her voice. She took up no forms in my dreams or reality. She was not real, at least not to others. But to me, she was everything. Everything I dreamt of, everything I was and wasn't, everything I wished to be and more. She slayed my demons and calmed me in my most painful hour. And all this without a draught of sleep or rest. She was and is my always. She'll always be there for me. And, if she would only let me in, I would be there for her.
I promised her this all late one night when the wind was dead, the grass fragrant like lavenders, the tree bark rough and old, and her arms wrapped around me like I was her greedy gold.
She softly muttered to me, "Don't make up such fantasies, sweet. I am nothing but your creative silence. Now sleep, and dream pleasant thoughts of fields of roses and rainbows galore. That is the only place where you can truly behold me."
Could she not see how much in pain I had been as she uttered those words? It was as dooming as death! My Sweet Sorrow did not wish to let me hold her heart. Had she given it to someone else? Was I truly not her beloved? I do not know, for she declined to answer my queries after that bitter sweet night. Forever though, shall I show her the path to true peace and harmony. If it is a stop to pain she wishes, it shall be that in which she gets. I can only hope that she'll know she'll be paving my way to utter destruction as I do this for her, out of love.
For it always out of love.