Melancholia Poem by Bryan Riley

Cry
the keening cry
and weeping woman
weep
The time has not
yet come for
sleep
Hung, as the
moon is hung upon
the pale blue sky
Wander the world to
desecrate the ancient
places with laughter
and games. (A handful
of friends drift away)
As the sands within
these earthen hands
is loosed back down
upon the ground
The only sound-
the distant boom of
thunder over, underneath
that space of peace
In time will find
to call my own
or someplace else
which I call 'home'
In visions when
I dream alone