Easter Sunday

Melancholia, Melancholia.

I know that you’re there.

As you always have been.


In plain sight.

A dark secret.

You make things flat.

And gray.

I see you.

Acknowledge you.

But won’t accept you.

Ever-present, you try to hide.

Or camouflage as someone else.

Something else.

Shrouded as light.

Though you are darkness.

Pretending to be light.

But I know it’s you.

Lurking in the shadows.

As a shadow.

Sometimes in the open.

Beside me.

At a coffee shop.

Or a bar stool.

Even in bed.


Telling me to be silent.

About you.

But I shan’t.

Because I can’t.

Light is what shines.

Love is what matters.

Love is light.

Love is life.