Melancholy Revisited

Below is a poem I wrote a while ago, depicted by a drawing Shallom made a while ago. It's a good example of how we collaborate: distinct voices + common subject + complimentary style = result I am pleased with... though, in this example we didn't set out to make this collaboration at all - it is "found art" of sorts.

Sentiments on melancholy: Well, it's a place I go sometimes - and a place of lot of creatives visit. It's not a happy place, but it happens. Usually I land here in periods between inspiration, while I'm waiting on the muse to reappear. I revisit this poem as a reminder that these moments are temporary.

The image - a self-portrait of Shallom (charcoal on paper) is the exact shape I found myself in taking a bubble bath this week. Clearly, some states of being take us to familiar physical shapes. If I asked you to "raise your hand if you've been there" I suspect you'd all raise a hand. Men, I don't know... been there? Or, is this a female thing? Or, is this a creatives thing? I'm curious.

I consider it all a part of being. It's not good or bad, it just is. And it passes.

Thoughts?

charcoal on paper, 2007
self portrait

She Creeps

My brain is loud, then silent.
These emotions a raging ball of tempestuous urge, desire, and need.
Spirit low and empty, then full of light and optimism.

This is far better than the creeping, dreadful and loathsome melancholy. Melancholy laced in apathy, she whispers to my heart while I rest. I wake to remnants of a sorrow so vast and black, the emptiness is blaring loud in its oppressive silence.

I fear I will not wake from the dreams she offers my beating heart. Or, worse, awaken to a dank, cold void as reality.

I choke back tears and realize I’m grateful for them; sadness is better than nothingness.

I long for better dreams, aching to find a new home for her pale whispers and silently screaming darkness.

And yet, she remains. Cold, alone and creeping…

26 March 2007