Sovran Shrine

john keats an ode to melancholy

I believe that i can take a page from some lonely piece of prose
and then flush it down this wishing well and pretend i didn't know
cutting around the edges carefully trying hard to break my fall
of these unrelenting drooping shades that cannot afford this toll
lonely sundays waiting patiently for the church to start preaching
rain keeps dripping through this open door as the father falls asleep

and i hate to be the one who always
picks a fight with gods that offer
nothing but a sovran shrine nothing but a veiled line
i don't think that it's my place to
play this melancholy safe
and drink until i cannot speak and sleep under the sky

the sun tries to be a victim of a depressing cloudy day
he raves vainly never thinking of the mistakes he might have made
burning people causing endless droughts making such a tragic mess
can't he try to realize his faults and retreat back to his nest
but a summer without sunny light seems like faking on a date
there's no reason to be satisfied if you become what you hate