Mocking Sorrow

Such mocking sorrow...is the bloodstained dagger in a lifeless hand when the enemy's cry encases an elusive fog-bound sky in victory

Such mocking sorrow...is the broken-winged raven who hides in the shadow of a tree gazing at the branch above as the midnight wind lulls us to sleep with dissonant lullabies

Such mocking sorrow...is the slammed door in the face of a lover, her ring chiming on the floor like the bells of the carolers outside and their christmas hymes

Such mocking sorrow...is an old woman's memory of someone gone and times that have past, while young lovers hold hands, aglow with laughter, at the other end of the table

Such mocking sorrow...is the tear of worldly loss, rolling from rim to linen and soaked into a last breathe of life, as a new breathe of life emerges, and all cry with joy

Such mocking sorrow...is the bronze maple leaf that has fallen from grace and is wallowing in brittle fate, as little children giggle with devilry in the crisp autumn air 

Such mocking sorrow...is the mind that cannot overcome the stumbling stone in Zion, while some fly high as eagles, never impeded

Such mocking sorrow...is the sightless eye in the body of a soul that yearns to see mountains and oceans, and pictures so we say speak a thousand words

Such mocking sorrow...is the soundless ear that must imagine cacophony, as we hear oceans in seashells, and mimic songbird tunes that induce happy tears

Such mocking sorrow...is the malnourished child that eats off the ground and clings to a fence, as we eat half and give back, clinging to our figures

Such mocking sorrow...is this life so unfair and dark, yet so agleam with light.