Sorrow Sings To The Man

Sorrow sings to the man, for it no longer knows his name, it calls on the feeling of familiar pain, the old ache that used to live where he did, the version of him that hurt already claimed.

It calls like a siren in the middle of the dark, sometimes low, mostly familiar, humming a melody close to his heart, everything about it peculiar.

Sometimes the man pauses, sometimes the man reflects, because the song sounds like home, even though his address has changed, even though he moved on, even though he left.

For sorrow knows what the world laid across his shoulders, the weight of the heaviest seas, pulling him under, cold and uninvited, heavy like worry, heavy like unease.

It set his grief to music, gave his pain a tune he once knew well, made his worry feel like something worth listening to, like a hymn that used to hold him like a spell.

But sorrow cannot sing to this man, not anymore, not like before, for he has changed, he understands life as it should be, he understands what could be, and sorrow's song don't reach him like it did,

it knocks, but not at this address, not at this door.

Happy Mens Mental Health Awareness Month

The meaning you gave it was this: sorrow is calling out to a man it no longer recognizes because he has changed. Sorrow knows the old version of him, the one who used to live in pain, who hurt, who carried the weight of the heaviest things. But that man is not there anymore. He moved. He healed. He left that address.

So sorrow is singing to someone who is no longer home.