The World through the Eyes of the Melancholic Ones

For a man whose bare skin has been kissed
By the softest touch of the breeze;
For a man whose eyes have found sustenance
Upon those finite, distant horizons;
And for a man whose soul has been caressed
By the brightest shade of the moon's finesse;

Should the masses
Tell that man to turn away
From such themes of existence,
When he's blessed with such senses of beauty?
As his tired, inconsolable eyes
Can only fathom
The beauty of the utmost melancholy,
That all he's ever envisioned was
To be that man who ends up by the sea;
Just there, with his aloneness,
Making love to every bit of his memories.