It's a feeling
older and more gray-white
than sea fog,
as opaque and heavy
as algae on a pond.
The melancholy entangles
you in its tendrils
that tighten with your every movement.
You think that if you could stop squirming,
stop pitying yourself,
you'd end this symbiosis,
and the beast would die.
Yes, melancholy and self-pity are parasites that live off of us. The more we feel them the harder they grip. You are oh so right in describing this as a feeling older than the sea fog. This is something that captures each and every part of humanity at one point or another.
i love the title of this piece, its great, i jsut liek that word in general lol, but anyways this poem makes you think we ll me @ least it has a very deep meaning, even though its written so simply great write!
I amsure its excellent..but its 1:30 am and my brain is ooze...mush...a big ol blob o' jelly. I will come back and read again at a more literate moment, aye? Heh...gads I'm tired, Goodnight... ~Sicobe R. Cr...zzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZzzzzz...
The only thing i would change about this piece is the use of the word 'tendrils' itself... i don't think its needed to emphasise the name of the piece, and will probably do better still without it. i too like the algae on a pond line... its unique and a vivid picture...