Singing the ennui away.

Trundle up the hill in grief,
then thunder down,hot tears in rain

Wedge your nose into a rose,
as if to learn to sniff again

Find your feet, raise up and plod
on the self same, old beaten track

Peer in lost curiosity at shops, once known,
interiors now, are starkly black

Realize, you've done all this before
and wonder also, too

Why all the horror of the world
has been lost on some, but loosed on you

But know: this is just the ennui talking
that late afternoon palliative rose

That covets all our shouldered burdens
convinces us we're carved morose

When will all this vicious circling,
totem of the life we call absurd

Be broken and the heart thrown open -
hearing songs, as yet unheard?