Melancholic Disposition

I wish we could hold on tight,

And not let slip away from sight.

Any pearl from string,

What horror it may bring?

A touch of rough hand,

Recklessly scattered the entire band.

A slight jolt to disperse,

Each precious piece in direction diverse.

Trying to catch them all,

And prevent their fall.

As touching below,

Would scathe their glow.

And they bounce further away,

No longer in a group they could stay.

Such pain,

Cleft my heart in Twain.

And just like a rambler broods,

Among various clusters in woods.

So am I nostalgic of original spark, Roving through dark.