Larghetto In Mourning

By Marcella Leff

Sadness creeps on dissonant feet,

playing chords that never resolve.

It whispers low, intent on deceit,

as if the volume starts to dissolve.

My darkness returns.

All music sounds far away,

my senses trapped in fractured glass.

An exhausted adagio tries to play-

like water drops that fail to pass.

Inertia slips beneath my skin.

This melody feels like memory,

echoed from a frozen mind.

My senses move reluctantly,

in slow-motion, misaligned-

stuck on an empty, bare stage.

My vision clouds, then blurs to gray.

Life is seen through a lazy eye.

Like drifting in a drug-induced sway,

I stifle an inner cry.

My sadness spirals down.

Only mourning’s color rules,

a shade that nothing dares to breach.

No light intrudes, no healing tools.

No voice can reach.

My melancholic soul reigns.

I exist inside this rhythm,

shaped to fit what others need.

Caged in borrowed prisons,

I find comfort in the bleed,

a haunt that knows my name.

By Marcella Leff