Sadness Calls

What is this? This fragile, little sound? A puppy, lost and lonesome, on the side of the road? A single mourning dove, upon telephone lines so high, looming before the churning sky?

A sound so broken and yet so true, drifting on angry winds. All hope swallowed by a single note, then spit back out as acidic regret. I hear this call and it beckons me, this solemn, little cry. It echoes off the rain-slick roofs of the sleeping city skyscrapers, careless in its path.

And I, weak and unable to resist this broken, empty cry, walk down the path that sadness calls, to an unbroken eternity.