The Dispersion Of Melancholy
As the sunlight floats over the horizon

The silence of the world at daybreak,
Nothing bar the sweet chorus of bird songs,
The light defuses as it dances on the horizon,
About to cast its rays on all that belongs.
***
A face peers solemnly through the window,
Waiting for the disappearance of the shadows, the gloom,
One that lovingly cast its gaze upon the night sky,
As it foretold its worries and troubles to the moon.
***
Ready now for the sunlight to disperse the melancholy,
With which the heart had recently succumbed,
The bleeding wounds festering in silence,
As the smile grows wider, the falsetto whistled and hummed.
***
The pain is hidden, never exposed in public,
But at daybreak, the hour is perfect,
Alone, the world asleep, the dam breaks,
Nobody around to ever suspect.
***
The tears of sorrow fall ever so quietly,
Washing the soul of such devastation,
Does this fix the cause, no but it replenishes its strength,
Easing the pain into more of a frustration.
***
The cord has been severed, of that there’s no doubt,
It was expected but so sudden, caught unaware,
The struggle complex, unsure and of no other concern,
Caught in a ripple effect, thrown into a nightmare.
***
No one is to blame for the heartbreak and sorrow,
It’s the circle of life, once more taking fate in its hands,
Not enough tiny boxes for a wide array of experiences,
One life destroyed as another’s lovingly expands.
***
One day there’ll be the biggest regret,
Of a life taken for granted,
The days are short and definitely numbered,
And when the end does arrive, the pain will be implanted.
***
Time is a commodity of the dearest kind,
Once spent there’ll be no recouping its cost,
The days, the hours, the minutes and the seconds,
Gone, wasted, absolute, history, forever lost.

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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (4)
Wonderful and heartbreaking!!! Left some love 💕💖😊
This was sooooooo relatable!
Your clarity of loss is profound. ❤️🥰🤗
Beautiful piece. Well done, my friend.