Sorrowfully, today I cried.
Am I less the man because I feel;
the jester in the eyes of men,
Bells do not round my head;
the music to which I dance is mine.
Does pretension insulate me, make
me stronger, the better man.
I do not know why I cried,
but tears poured from me.
Whether I cry because of worry, or worry
because I cry, the results are the same.
Darkness shrouds me.
I taste sadness from many sources;
it gorges me, yet why then
am I empty, ever empty.
A young man I am not.
Youth has since perished;
sap courses slowly, and dries
before wetting the bark.
Sadly, this day is characteristic.
What else could a day be?
Tomorrow, things would be better;
tomorrow, would I smile.