Posts Tagged ‘Sadness’

These scars left upon me,
Each papercut from a photograph,
Each tear drawn from a fond anecdote,
Or the sting of a familiar song,
They’re biting heirlooms of a time long gone,
A man long dead,
And the wraith who loved him,

As the events of those golden days fade,
As the flower petals moulder,
And tender gifts are consigned to the loft,
I’m left with the immaterial pangs,
The true souvenir of a heartbreak,
Physical knick-knacks have their sway,
But the upset is the real memento.

Looking back at my scribblings,
I weep tender tears,
The ink vents at me,
It chastises me,
Denouncing my attempts at artistry,

I’m a sham,
I’m farcical,
A fake,
Trying at a craft that mocks my toils,
Playing at aptitude,

I can’t argue,
The ink preaches to my choir,
The writing only reflects my own thoughts,
In all of my inadequacy,
My words prove vacuous and dry,

The ink speaks with my voice,
Knowing I’m bound for inconsequence,
Only a charlatan,
Yes indeed,
But one that shall keep trying.

You and I,
We kneel spent,
In this field of embers,
An array of flowers once danced here,
But now all is charred and grey,
This love burned us,
Resting in each others doting hearths,
We are scalded by one another’s conflagrations,

We knew no frost,
We were so enamoured by the heat,
We forgot flames are a force of destruction,
We tried our best,
But it was inevitable,
No matter how pure,
It had to be eased to embers,
For a fire is destined to be put out.

A rather foul pall has fallen,
On my mind and mood,
A fog over every facet of my life,
Something just feels wrong,
Like everything out of focus,
An insidious change of perception,
With no explanation,

The skies seem ever more grey,
Even as they glow blue,
Ambrosia and champagne in my mouth,
Tastes as bland as dust,
Social plans are as hounds,
Pursuing me as frightened prey,
The best things in life going somehow incorrect,

In the lukewarm winds of time,
I hope this pall shall blow away,
For it’s no way to exist,
To feel innately wrong.

The symphony commences,
As the sky grows dark,
Metallic warnings in the air,
Cacophonous and shrill,
Like lost souls lamenting the plight of the living,
From their vantage points,
Those sirens have seen the approaching flags,
Riding upon rockets and helicopter blades,
Their hymn warns of fire and brimstone,
Depleted uranium fireworks,
This is no party tune,
But the raucous dirge of a nation.

I am walking this walk,
Heavy foot after heavy foot,
Head downcast in shame,
Reading the passing paving stones,
Trekking along streets greyer than usual,
Fatigue weighing each limb down,
My brain raves in my skull in rebellion,
Home may or may not be on the horizon,

I feel as if I’ve ingested a brewery,
My tongue is a desert,
It’s the walk of shame,
An embarrassing escapade,
Yet this is no post-dalliance retreat,
Not the ending of a sordid tale,
Just a day in the life,
The life of a loser.

In the autumn of our time,
She left me with this necklace,
Her terminal gift,
This stalwart pendant,
A cross upon my back,

This icon was bestowed under pretence of love,
A scathing symbol of your thoughts,
Reminder of the hopes you had for me,
Hopes I dashed,
Leaving a sterling silver wound,

This metal lion,
A hollow king,
It once touted strength,
But now is a reminder of failure,
So its jaws constrict my neck.

When love is broken,
It’s like being thrown overboard,
Dragged right under the waves,
Diving into the aquatic depths of melancholy,
Breathless and sobbing in whalesong,

The blue holds you in the dark,
You languish there in sorrow cultivating a shell of coral,
Pressure like punishment for your heart broken,
Even the most advocating voices prove drowned out,
Supportive sonar failing to pierce the muck,

This drowning can last years,
Staying alone in the safe womb of suffocation,
But humans are social creatures,
Eventually a light may shine from the surface,
Like a gulf stream in human form,

A new infatuation from above like a fish hook,
So you swim towards it,
But do not be overhasty,
They say that ascending too fast is hazardous,
You could get the bends,

Jumping from that ocean to the dating pool,
You could be beset by paralysis and constriction,
Twisted like a soaked cloth,
And just like the great blue,
Acting in rashness could crush you.

That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.

Stashed in this dark cubicle,
Like a vintage speaker inoperable,
I languish in pained silence,
No more does poetry and music escape these lips,
No longer do I monologue,

I am alone,
No incoming voices,
No mechanics come to fix me,
Just perpetual let down after sore event,
Spurring me to depressive inaction,

With each crank of the dial,
I am less myself,
Turned down in volume,
A muted soul,
No longer to produce a syllable nor tune,

The loneliest sound is a single teardrop.