It is ache, walking a solitary path,
listening to the whispers of dry leaves.
It is steel, coldly shackling the feet,
painting red the shadows of eves.
It is fragrance, fading in the autumn wind,
riding the wings of a tired butterfly.
It is poison, a floating black swan,
humming softly, a sad lullaby.
It is misery, gleaming in the tears of a child,
tracing wet streaks across innocence.
It is laughter, hollowing the insides,
Echoing in the halls of loneliness.
It is a dark shadow, following the dreams,
tainting the brightness of each day.
It is fear, of the known and the unknown,
fear of impending doom, black and grey.
What is it that aches and makes you miserable?
What is it that’s common to all and still is typical?
It is longing, and it has got us all hooked,
It is longing. It is Sehnsucht.