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;