Joy Fades

Joy fades, under the solemn breath of spring.
The microbursts throw the trees in raging waves
And the sleet falls in such a way, that is grey.
A man's wedding is but a day, and perfunctory
When the true sweetness of it, is laying at her breast
On the way home. No lust, but exhaustion.
For, boundaries were kept through life strict
But after that day, you can lay your weary head
Upon nature's comforting hills, and there rest.
Yet, the sorrow of the day, like so many,
Is it is an awkward day for all, and strange.
Joy should exist, but only angst. Though I've never had been
I understand it through literature, and see
The purgatorial affect of modern day
And wonder where joy has gone?
Some time ago, there was life in these bones
And friendship was deeply felt in my heart.
Then, I sinned---or at least the world knew of it---
And it shamed me... thus I walk with the knowledge
Of having sinned. Like many, I assume,
The gross abnormality of our purgatorial lives
Is met solely by the affect wrought by stained consciences.
That is why we no longer feel the deep joys
Or the deep sorrows, or the deep loves
But everything has a melancholy affect
Of neutral peace; except when moments come
They swell, and one wonders what it is...
This new feeling, but old feeling, this shared feeling
Though I've never been married.