Brittle bits.

Though I am a pretty happy person overall, I, of course, have my down periods.  What I have always found interesting is the so-called "artist's temperament."  Of course, I tend to believe that temperament is exaggerated in portrayals of artists, though I have known some serious nutbars who nevertheless produced excellent work.  However, there does seem to be a touch of truth to the 'moodiness' of those in the creative fields.  Or let me put it this way: the vast majority of my friends can be broken down either into hearts-on-their-sleeves or robot-folk, and their choices of careers and hobbies seem extremely stereotypically aligned with their emotional makeup.  That's all.  Anecdote is not data.

I said all that to say that I wrote some sad things because I was sad.  One was written a few weeks ago, and another was written tonight, because I can't sleep.  And both of them are fairly short.



Stockholm Syndrome

The only thing you can remember
When you're delivered from their hands
Is how you begged them not to hurt you
And complied with their demands.
Sometimes it is just best to keep it simple.

And, for more "form" poetry--a roundel--and you can read about roundels here, because I'm not going to explain the godforsaken thing tonight--

I Await the Day

I await the day that you should go,
When you turn to me and say,
"I can't remain with you, you know,"
I await the day.

For now we ignore inevitable decay
Engage in a facetious show
Of glittering wit and repartee--

Both of us grasp the deep truth, though
We both realize you can't stay
You'll exit when it's apropos--
I await the day.
 
Hooray for misery!  At least it lends itself well to getting poetry written.