heart sick
We rarely acknowledge lamenting anymore;
I guess it’s an old fashioned concept these days—
Like Jeremiah’s lamentation—his song of mourning for Jerusalem.
Nothing else seems to capture the depth of grief and sorrow;
It’s beyond discouragement—though courage is surely gone;
It’s more pervasive than being distraught or upset;
Distress somehow doesn’t reach to the depths of the pain.
It’s akin to disillusionment—because all illusion has been removed;
Perhaps disheartened best captures the ominous cloud that hovers.
It hangs, it haunts, and it halts all normal feelings of happiness.
Disheartening—like a heart that has lost its rhythm;
No longer beating with metronome paced passion.
Minor things prompt tears—Major concerns are no longer.
The past seems wasted; the future unpromising;
The present filled with mundane, monotonous.
Nights stretch unbearably, treacherously long.
I find myself alone, lonely, lonesome.
My heart is sick—it aches deeply;
My days are filled with lamenting.
