There in I feel the need to repent, to lament some of the grief that heavy set upon my shoulders-to lift them hence and cast them aside, there they burden anyone, no one say I. No more say I.
In all the wrongs there are lies, deciets and more troubling still in the pain I feel where no suffering have I felt nor no harm to my person have I bared nor received, nor have I dealt harm to others. It is greif that wieghs heavily unpon my heart- gentle, frail heart, made of glass so thin that if thee were to shine a light through, thou could see the light within, reflecting off the fragile walls.
I am but a gentle soul, beguiled in misery and the sweet agony of loss and now hence do I drown myself in mine own tears that fall O so bitterly from my face to be swallowed up by the earth benieth my feet...
O earth, O most graious Earth, I impore thee, open up thy gentle lands beneith my feet and swallow this woeing soul whole, and ne'er leave a trace behind. Leave no trace, no path, no small spare crumb behind, let none find anything at all but what was left of this woeing souls sorrow.
If thee, gentle earth, will not swallow me whole then consume me gentle nothingness, ease this woe and grief from my heart. Lift this burnden of loss from my sad, sad shoulders and allow me to dry my wet cheeks.
Come, come hand me now that handkercheif my friend, my kin, my brethren.
And allow me to dry these tears. My woeing is but all done... because I, I this pitiful soul, am not allowed to woe for I must be strong. Strong is all I'm allowed to be and hence I must pent up my saddness for your sake, dry up all my tears... and once more bear a heavy burden.
Alack, alack... who shall mourn for me now? When I myself cannot shed another tear, for the strong to do cry.
But cry! Cry! Cry and cry I do! For I am broken, defeated and I throw myself hence down at thy feet, and I beseech of you, ask of you, beg of you, entreat of you allow me this one moment of weakness, to cry, to rant and rave like a lunatic. To mourn all of my sorrows into the sweet, gentle earth, to wail my agony to her open ear, to wet her ground with my tears. Then, then I shall trouble thee no more with my sorrow, hence I shall make to place on a stone mask to wherein hide my cares and my woeing shall be no more but a pitiful whimper on my lips when none be around.
I ask thee, hast thou not felt so weary, so burdened that thou only desired nothingness and nothing more? Has thou not felt weakness take hold? Has thou not felt these sorrows that have I? Oh my friend, my kin, my brethren... I am all but undone... I am undone and hence do I wither... into saddness.
Note: This was inspired by Shakespeare's Richard the II, Act IV... I was also sad when I wrote this if you couldn't tell.