A POET'S PAIN
For years now I have wandered,
A man bereft of dreams.
With bitterness and frustration
Ripping me apart at the seams.
A child in time - standing still,
No destiny to manifest.
Losing all ambition, hopes and will
To live, or die, at best.
And I often wonder if other's wonder
Of the man I used to be.
Or if I'm just feeling sorry for myself,
A perverted cry for sympathy.
But I do remember standing proud,
My head held high and unashamed.
A solid rock, a song sung loud,
My destiny self-proclaimed.
But ain't that the life of a poet,
Passion, the name of the game.
The pain, well I couldn't forego it,
So I gave her my last name.
Tearing the emotions right off the page
And wearing them on my sleeve.
Now looking back through a lover's rage
Seems like it was all just make-believe.
That's what happens when you open your heart
For someone else to fill your needs.
Blink once, your world's been torn apart,
And it's only your soul that bleeds.
You find trust is a four-letter word,
And most every vow's been broken.
Still, the coldest lies I never heard,
Those idle words left unspoken.
They say hindsight is twenty-twenty,
But surely there's no future in the past.
So I'm spreading my wings for tomorrow,
Ever the enthusiast.
And somehow should another ever even come close
To stealing this heart again.
She'll never know it, I'm back to being a poet,
She'll just have to steal my pen.