Curse you Past for staining my memories
For it is you that brings me down
Why must you haunt me?
Must I always live in regret of the past?
Things I have done
The things that incite shame within
Must I always live with your admonishment?
By day my life distracts
By night my dreams remind
Haunting images of transgressions past
Of the hurt I have caused
Why won't you let me be?
What is it that you want from me O Past?
That you would constantly remind me of my shame?
That you would seek to dishonor me even now?
"You can't be forgiven, you won't be forgiven" you shout at me.
Shall I recognize your screams and suffer remembrance?
"Monster, Your life is but a facade to me" you declare
Why must your cruel hand reach my heart
And grasp it with the icy coldness of the hurt I have wrought?
You rear your ugly head in remembrance of my sins.
You transcend time itself to haunt me,
How will I ever surmount the mistakes I have made...
The hurt I have caused?
I can not make the choice this day to forgive myself.
Suffering remembrance, forgiveness isn't merited.
Not an option, Not a choice, Forevermore.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tears Come
Tears please come.
The heart beckons you. By night's solace, by day's solitude, and thought's reminiscence a sorrowful dirge resounds from the hollows of the atrium of where she once resided. Thus misery’s words lacerate my lamentations upon this fractured heart, inscribed upon a heart whose tell tale beat accompanies the symphony of your sorrow…resonating upon the eternal streams that shan't come upon these dry eyes.
Tears come.
So that misery's sorrow may be expunged from the darkness that enshrouds this sorrowful heart, for it's lamentable existence seeks death's cold embrace. Frozen forever still, longing to beat no more.
Oh tears!
Grace this bed-ridden heart with your healing waters. Hasten your presence into the soul of this forsaken spirit, for as the waterfall crashes violently for a time it rests in a soothing pool, stoic and serene at its rest, as is this heart. In violence and turmoil it is crashing awaiting its stoic serenity, yet it never comes.
Tears please come.
The heart beckons you. By night's solace, by day's solitude, and thought's reminiscence a sorrowful dirge resounds from the hollows of the atrium of where she once resided. Thus misery’s words lacerate my lamentations upon this fractured heart, inscribed upon a heart whose tell tale beat accompanies the symphony of your sorrow…resonating upon the eternal streams that shan't come upon these dry eyes.
Tears come.
So that misery's sorrow may be expunged from the darkness that enshrouds this sorrowful heart, for it's lamentable existence seeks death's cold embrace. Frozen forever still, longing to beat no more.
Oh tears!
Grace this bed-ridden heart with your healing waters. Hasten your presence into the soul of this forsaken spirit, for as the waterfall crashes violently for a time it rests in a soothing pool, stoic and serene at its rest, as is this heart. In violence and turmoil it is crashing awaiting its stoic serenity, yet it never comes.
Tears please come.
Questions
What can be said, when time doesn't mend?
What can be done when all you want it to do is end?
When sorrow decides to reap whats left
Your soul of all feeling bereft
Numbness capsizes your spirit
and in its wake all you feel is solitude's grip.
Nothingness.
Void.
What is to be said to one that is hurting?
What can be said and would it even matter?
When that person's heart is shattered
And the pieces scattered
Can that person say that anything ever mattered?
Would it feel as though time were meaningless?
Lost as a concept to them?
And who would search the world with them
for the pieces they have lost?
Lastly, in the presence of such suffering
Of grief and sorrowful remembrance
Would the end of such a life be a greater sorrow?
For who could miss such a desolate existence?
And what would the continuance thereof accomplish?
In the fray of sorrow, there is naught but pain.
Death, or so it seems, is the only release.
What can be done when all you want it to do is end?
When sorrow decides to reap whats left
Your soul of all feeling bereft
Numbness capsizes your spirit
and in its wake all you feel is solitude's grip.
Nothingness.
Void.
What is to be said to one that is hurting?
What can be said and would it even matter?
When that person's heart is shattered
And the pieces scattered
Can that person say that anything ever mattered?
Would it feel as though time were meaningless?
Lost as a concept to them?
And who would search the world with them
for the pieces they have lost?
Lastly, in the presence of such suffering
Of grief and sorrowful remembrance
Would the end of such a life be a greater sorrow?
For who could miss such a desolate existence?
And what would the continuance thereof accomplish?
In the fray of sorrow, there is naught but pain.
Death, or so it seems, is the only release.
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