Melancholia

Some poems

Are made out of

Sunshines

How for a second brief

Through the meadow it peeks,

The warmth it gives off

Melting cold hearts

Some are made

Out of drizzles

Its reverberating sound

As it first touches

This cold grey land

Where, in each others' arms

This biting chill, we melted

But this verse

Which I made out

Of thread and needles

A stitch to the heart

Out to unforgotten memoirs

Of a sullen past

—a closed wound, opened

All over again.