Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

my melancholy moans and makes
a morbid meditation moribund
dreams of drab events and
drabber possibilities
every hazard and calamity
every pain and twitch noticed
and pondered and
mulled in my melancholy

my melancholy is a machine
the motor-oil is cold and slow
I beat myself with rubber bats
anything could go wrong
any part could fail
in the magnet of my melancholy
all poles are south
the compass needle simply spins
in the Northern Hemisphere

my melancholy is better than nothing
a perpetual dentist's chair
where numbness is at least
one up on pain
my melancholy doesn't ask for strain
merely endurance

Love the alliteration in the first stanza. And the last stanza is excellent!

All in all, a really good poem!

one of the best of your latest

thanks doreen
this piece is all about alliteration and consonance (internal alliteration)
this was inspired by the fact that Abraham Lincoln wrote about his paralyzing depression calling it melancholia, which is what they called it in the 1850s
I can relate to it

Abe has always been overrated as a Prez. Talk about a warmonger! Maybe it would have been better to let those racist Southern bastards secede. Yes yes I know... Heresy!! Endless WAR and butchering is noble. Just check the museums.

Yes, life is the postmodern loop-parody of modern, the novacaine gig, stuck on some elevator to brilliance. On hold. Looping. Compass spinning. Enjoyed, LRod..