The Walls of Sorrow

The Walls of Sorrow

by John Lee

There was some sorrow lurking round the corner the other day,

It was the colour of mould - rich, but dull;

It fed on the bright colours the walls had,

It grew and eventually clung to the very walls that it fed on.

The colours on the wall melted, sprouting into beads of moisture,

They dripped and flowed - like tears that had no end;

The mould thrived and spread like fire across a golden field,

The dull colour, no longer rich, but ugly now clung tighter, reached further.

Things all fall apart, as the bright-coloured walls began to,

They fall, and crash unto the floor;

Leaving the resounding roar of silence,

ricocheting off the walls, smashing into grief, breaking it apart.

Sadness is a season that will pass, they say,

Nothing is further from the truth;

Sadness will remain inside eating from within, clinging, spreading,

It will never stop, until you fall apart.