Stupidly melancholic

So the proverbial dejected feelings begin
with the sudden lost of interest. 
From the other side of the world, of course. 
For the fear of being total at lost, 
the stillness remained as the only preference 
to abide by the rule of being survivors. 
One side is crestfallen down to the mouth, 
another oblivious. 
The deflated mode was perceptible 
although no immense action taken nonetheless . 
Fly, fly, roar into the sky,
the choice is in the hand, 
bar the bird then choose to be tied.
The plethora of alternatives to opt
hoard the preeminent perhaps?
No, not the contentment to be desired.
Perchance, the truth.
The verve.
The fervor