He knew Melancholy all too well

Staring at the blank page

Emptiness laughing at him

From within the fibres of the paper

How many discarded rewrites

Ended up in the waste paper bin

Nouns, Verbs and Adjectives all lost 

Crumpled up never to be looked at again

How many tired days and sleepless nights

Had he sat there, fountain pen in hand

Cheek squashed on writing desk

Ideas dribbling from the corner of his mouth

What would he have to do?

To write his masterpiece

As days melted into nights

And insanity crept up on him  

Slowly descending

Into the mouth of despair

A light bulb moment

“Eureka; I have it”

Melancholy

A word made up of a fruit and a vegetable

Both hated and loved in equal measures

Part of your healthy five a day

Yes, he knew melancholy Madness!

---

John is a Welsh Poet from the coastal city…