Poetry: Melancholy and Moral Geometry

A couple recent poems. They aren't fantastic, but I suppose they aren't vomit-worthy either. Neither of these is actually titled, but I felt like I needed to title them to post them. I'm sure I'll read them again in a few months and either burn or revise them (...for the umpteenth time. Alas). But until their demise or further verbal (plastic) surgery...

Silent Melancholy Sits

Silent melancholy sits
Crouched beside the path
Well-worn and soft,
Like tired earthen backs,
With the stately steps
Of distilled centuries.
Green, it hides,
And gray, it hangs.
It waits for me to pass
With tender silent tread
And turns blithe inspiration
Heavy, entering like a mist
And choking like a sigh.


Life Wanders

More poetry here.