Melancholia

Her sadness rests on the knuckles beneath her chin
Her defeated eyes hanging heavy, her patience wearing thin
The darkness had knocked on her door with force
And instead of getting up to answer, she resides in her remorse
She sits at the table staring blankly into the night
Where stars and galaxies far away reflect what little light
Surrounds her
She wonders what it would be like to walk amongst those stars
To romp about and feel as though she wasn’t stuck behind the iron bars
Of the prison she has designed
Inside her own mind
Making herself the victim of her own petty crimes
Making herself believe she didn’t have the strength to carry on
And so she let herself believe all of the problems she faced were her burdens and hers alone
That she lived and died by her own hand
That she instilled the weakness in her knees that withdrew her strength to stand
She believed that she had failed, and so she had
She believed that she was the reason her eyes looked so sad
And so her sadness rests in her hands
Whichever direction she tips her hourglass, she is still the god of the sands
And so strength is not in overcoming the pain
But in having the courage to let go of the familiar and change