It allows my hurt feelings
Free range and some bullshit self-pity.
Warping my view of streets
And the sounds of the suffering.
I can’t accept justifications
That suggest it was offered for the “greater good”.
My friend did not steal my purse,
He just wanted his job back.
There is such beauty in emotional pain.
A purity that converts suffering
To an absurd belief in your vision
Of a higher truth.
Music can speak eloquently of loss
Low octave minor key notes rich
With a sense of forlorn,
Slowly, extending to despair.
With luck, tomorrow’s dream
Will replace today’s nightmare,
Reduce the grief
To a smaller melancholy.
Yes, tomorrow’s weather may brighten
My dismal landscape into
A field of hope.
But I cannot leave without absorbing the darkness.
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