A Life So Dreary

A life so dreary, a sun always dim,
A time where prudence demands weeping on a whim.
The young man who stands
In the middle of a dark, flat, desolate field
Absorbs a downpouring of tears
That would flood the very astral plains.
A universe so bleak, a vision so opaque,
Perhaps the sadness itself will kill him,
Suffocate the very breath from his body,
Pounding until his bones are crushed,
When there is nothing left to hold them together.
But a fate worse than death is to remain alive in this state
And wallow around incessantly, pitifully,
In the confined muddied area,
Crying, moaning, griefstricken forever more.