A Black Swing

A swing,

Coated in a charcoal gloss,

Swaying in the gentle afternoon breeze,

Seems more than I deserve,

For though surrounded by a scene of peace,

And the epitome of serenity,

Chaos ensues.

Though the sky is speckled with tufts of cotton,

Dark storms rage on,

Eyes once bright and shining,

Now dull and cloudy.

Through ivory,

Dark, tired, purple appears.

A mind,

Surrounded by smiling faces,

And picturesque scenes of nature,

And full hearts,

And glad tidings,

Is tired.

It can see nothing but gray.