Invidia

Through your soul it shall burn,
In a sunny day, like a placid nocturne.
From the ashes the dearest shall rise,
A sweet melancholy you cannot despise.

Should it then crush, should you refrain
Should you not let the tyrant be slain,
And burn out your last lucky star
To realize, that wishes only go so far.

A brighter light shall darken the rebel,
Like the shadow of something invisible.
You shall fall with its rise.
Then, my dear, who will call you wise?

But, should the cynic ever sing along
This sine qua non, this dark song,
And wear this armor, thick, of stones,
A skull for a face; for arms, crossbones.

Upon the world shall the mayhem turn.
And when nothing’s left to yearn,
To only fall again, you shall rise.
Even then, my love, none will call you wise.

(I wanted to try something darker this time and so picked this.
'Invidia' is latin for envy, described as one of the seven deadly sins. And the above is about the two ways out of the basic state - to surrender and to fight it. And about how none in fact gets one out.)