Melancholy sits quietly on a hill,
framed in greenery—wild, lush.
Day stretches her rays extravagantly ‘till
Night finally induces her to hush.
The moonlight drips, cascading down
her long, twined, silvery locks.
Mildew glistens effervescently,
highlighting her sinewy bluish robe.
There on her hill, perched on her rock,
Melancholy gazes over the globe.
Hypnotized by the wanderings of man,
she surveys his realm in fascination.
Those who espy her from far away,
in the dark valleys of their lives,
often turn away, unable to discern
the truth from the lies.
Just as Melancholy threatens to take hold
of this world so seemingly dark,
Hope wanders in, a shy little boy,
and sits down next to her.
And so, in the dark, up on that hill,
in that quiet primordial place,
Melancholy sits quietly on a hill
until Hope comes to chase her away.
The wind ponders
In the Infinite expanse
of the nighttime sky
the wind sighs,
“Do you find yourself
in the pool of incandescent light?”
In a hushed meadow
warm and sweet
ponders the wind,
“Do you see yourself,
A dark wood,
an abyss of thorns
again he whispers,
“Now do you see?”
The Bedouin’s is a solitary path.
© 2009 Natalie Paul. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Natalie Paul is a pseudonym for Melinda Cro, a Doctoral candidate at the University of Georgia. Her field is Romance Languages and her specialization is French and Italian literature. She currently teaches Italian at the University of Georgia and enjoys spending time with her enormous Maine Coon and her black shepherd.