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Sometimes the tides pull me within.
Where I see the dusty door to my attic,
With recognition that sparks sheer panic.
The door’s always open and inviting,
So enticing there’s no sense in fighting…
There’s a light switch,
but I can’t seem to switch the burst bulb broken years before,
There’s something more…
The way the window’s boarded shut creates a dance of dust with light flowing in as tangible.
It’s hardly imaginable to picture this place fully illuminated.
I’ve heard before that we don’t appreciate stunning beauty until it’s been desecrated.
I got the latter and a change of sight,
But not a ladder to change my broken light.
You learn to see things differently peeking from the shadows,
As a sorry solemn soul soon to be hung from the gallows.
I regret staying in shallows from fear of drowning.
Yet what’s worse is living a life full of frowning.
I walk to another door that wasn’t there years ago…
I hear a groan from the giving grain of the steps,
Everything oxidized and compromised in my annex.
I reach the worn knob and open the door.
In solitude and silence,
Once I stop to realize what I have found,
In unknowing compliance,
I venture to the devil’s playground.
I’ve been to this unamusing park before,
And I’m losing my will to fight it…
This playground is nearly silent,
Mind the metal making mocking laughter,
The sky is a bloodstained twilight,
Illuminating the outstretched disaster,
As the sole resident I put up a fight,
But this horror has no acknowledges master.
Until the day you reach your lowest point,
In a state of solemn sorrow and solitude,
Setting your eyes firmly upon your darkness,
Embracing it with truest tears of gratitude.
It's invigorating to finally fix my fingers upon my fleeing phantom.
never to be touched with intent of ransom,
instead only when you find him handsome.
My struggle from the ground up has shaped me,
Its the foundation to my house,
The flower to my baking,
Like the flowers in the fields,
Pain is contrast in the making!!
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Struggle is an important part of life, but not the only, nor even the most important. I like your poem, but I am sorry that you feel like this. I'm sorry, because I know how bad, and how hopeless one can feel. But you have to know, that there is more to life, then just sorrow. You have to know this, even in times, when it feels that there isn't there wasn't and there never will be. Because there was and there will be, and eventhough sometimes it's just impossible to see, but there is. I know, that you won't believe me, because when I feel like this, I wouldn't believe anyone either. But I still wanted to write this down, because I wanted you to have at least something to hope for, even if it's not something you can believe in right now. I hope that things will get better.
ReplyThank you for that... I know there's more, but the depression is blinding. I write to try and come to terms with my problems and let them go, but some days they're a little more binding. Man, I had no intention of making that flow...
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