Sweet Nepenthes of the Soul

Quiet roam these stories of my mind,

still and silent, never speaking,

I quaff these

sweet nepenthes of the soul.

Slow and soothing,

fast and jolting,

sad and sorrowful,

all surrounding. I quaff these

sweet nepenthes of the soul.

Yet still I cry,

still these silver tears fall

down my face, into my mouth.

I still taste the sorrow of years

in one glistening tear.

Why no longer do these

sweet nepenthes of the soul

soothe the sorrow

of my soul?