Sadness suits you, telling your story
by the candle’s quivering light
drinking the fruit of the vine
a cloak of panacea for the soul.

The wine, blushing your cheeks
with rosy pink petals
staining your pouting lips
with its luscious blood.



Your tears, falling like acid rain
taints the full-bodied elixir
with your somber melancholy
banishing the mellow glow.


You speak of loves lost, what remains
with certainty the losing of hope
drowning sorrows in self-pity’s drink
as you watch the flame flicker and die.


©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

7 Comments on “Panacea

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