MELANCHOLY by Edvard Munch

(a sonnet by Timothy J. Verret)

You battle the mythical beast, Loch Ness.

Is it real? To you, yes, it is indeed.

It’s that creature you know as hopelessness.

To you, a “true” folklore Scottish, not Swede.

Hopelessness is me shutting down; silence.

Inconsolable inconsistencies.

I vanish, you vanish, comes the violence,

not so distant bell of deficiencies.

This is where I often place a God verse.

I cannot force something that just ain’t there.

“Thanks, God, I have not yet taken to curse.”

Just quiet. Just lonely. Just hopeless. Don’t care.

When catastrophe strikes, and it sure will.

We can love again. We can hope in “STILL.”

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