My Personal Sea

(Henry-Joseph Harpignies 1819-1916)

I've always had a strange sort of sadness in me.

A deep-rooted ache,

A dull-edged strain of melancholy.

Those around cast glances my way

when I fail to shed tears

over the events of the day. 

Over the comings and goings,

the commonplace tragedies,

the lives and the deaths.

They don't understand the sorrow

of sunrises and sunsets.

Its the thoughts of unknown

that gnaw at my heart.

It's the ideas I can touch,

but not feel,

that set me apart.

For I envy those whose tears

flow fast and free

as a clear mountain spring

emptying into a mutual sea.

Instead I walk the shores of a fathomless lake,

averting my gaze from the depths

of black and blue,

if only for my sanity's sake.

Perhaps one day a lone soul will find me,

having stumbled upon my personal sea,

and together, with dry eyes and heavy hearts,

we'll drown in this unspoken misery.

--by Skye