Melancholy

The cherry-scented leaf falters down from its elder tree, like a droplet of blood, irreversibly running down the cheek of a man carrying the dread expression - whose life is passing by in invaluable moments of pictures, knowing he will soon taste his guttural orchestra of depressive moments in a most soulful, unproclaimed howl of melancholy - ..of his frostbitten, heart-shaped fragments of the deepest chamber in his heart, where before, not even an amours arrow could affect him. The leaf withers upon the touching of grass, like a threatening doom, in the season of withering cherry-blossom trees, and the numbing sight of a man with a suppressed grief of despair in a facial contour resembling the frostbitten ones.