Dark Woods
Is it wrong? I've been wandering along the woods, thinking if I became virtuous on my entire existence. Every pace I take seemed erroneous and even my feet are strolling faultily leading me to the dead end. I halt with a sigh on the grazing land, on the near stream I gaze at my wearisome reflection. I ask my mirror image mellifluously: Is it wrong? If I didn't run off and leave him dejected on the dark woods, will it be wrong?
I am the 'she' who is obstinate; I am a character who is ghastly; I am the princess who is not worthy of the crown for I am nothing but an angel soaring in nothingness: chasing sun in the evening and haunting owls in the morning. You were down in the dumps when I came close to you, offered you a beautiful lamp which steered you to the heavenly lane and introduced 'tomorrow' at your doomed to failure 'today'. I ask my mirror image once more: Is it wrong? I feed hope to a fruitless man--- it wasn't the dilemma indeed. Thus, do you know what will be wrong?
It was a murky night when we stare upon stunning stars struggling with the immense darkness; it was a frosty hour of darkness when I bestowed you an intimate hug telling you will never ever be alone again; it was also a strange night when I first hear your voice in high spirits uttering you love me. It took us an hour before I irrevocably responded which pulled down the weary tears beneath your optimistic eyes. Again, I confront my mirror image: Is it wrong? Did my retort devastate our picturesque night? How will it be wrong?
Right in front of the blind alley, the moon murmured a disheartening sound telling me 'yes'. Yes it was, everything---- since the beginning was. I initiated the chaos delightfully that it almost concealed the distressing aftermath. I yielded chance; I furnished hope and kicked off love to a downcast and depressed man. You know what's wrong? I quenched his thirst of devotion but stashed away the jar after he gobbled a little, the ample hopes I have given him will apparently send him out of the despairing panorama but I immediately stole it away after he have tasted a bit, I trigger his optimism and anticipation when in the matter of fact: he has nothing to hope on, and I made him believed he was loved when the truth yelled the complete contrary.
I absconded and left him behind the dark woods with blinded thoughts and mistaken beliefs; I just made him worse, perhaps more dejected and bleak. I sewed up in his heart a very genuine pain that will hem him in a dungeon with no light and no escape. Now, I am alone in the dark woods thinking if I should return and fetch him.
On my mirror image I asked: If I restored what I have shattered,
WILL I DO THE SAME MISTAKE AGAIN?
WILL I BE WRONG AGAIN?
YOU ARE READING
Hüzün (Poetry)
PoesiaHüzün (n.) -a melancholy resulting from inadequacy or failure and weighting so heavily that it becomes a communal, resigned, and even curiously poetic.
