The Dark Meadow

I am sorry for the readers
and the writers with much to say
On sorrow,
For it seems sorrow
Weighs much more heavily on the soul
Than any form of joy I've known

It is sorrow that paces
And sorrow that writhes,
Drawing attention to itself,
Magnetizing thoughts,
A gravitational pull
Equivocal to that of the moon
On the tide

Once you notice that pitiful little lump
Of sorrow
You cant help but to revolve around it,
Contemplate it

Like a little black hole
In a rented recess of the mind
It draws upon mental
and emotional energies
Until you drive yourself crazy

I am sorry for the readers
and the writers with much to say
On sorrow,
For it weighs so heavily on the soul...