Oh melancholy, how I love you and loath you. Your depth is rich and stirs my heart, but your weight begrudges my soul.  Your power not harnessed, a tumultuous storm, your wisdom descended from ages old. A kin to passion, you crave a space to roam. A birthing place of freedom for those who refuse to be alone. For us to get along, I will find where you belong and tend to you there on the streets without care. For travelers and friends, your grace does not end. Not one to be shunned, but nurtured and loved. No war will I bleed, for a fortitude be.