So many hopes have
been laid to rest,
snuggling tight and cozy
where all dead dreams lie.
There wasn't even time to say goodbye.
Oh, my fighting spirit is now a sleeping spirit.
It doesn't wake to sweet smell of fancy,
to the buzzing of bees and all manner of honeys,
no.
It lies dead in the gutter,
or should I say,
asleep.
The only hope I have left, is to lie of the pain.
To wish away the wash of bitter taste
and lie away the bodies of thought and waste.
I have died too many times to count the carnage
and how I massacred myself,
past, present and future,
there is no more potential,
there is now just a rein
lying slack for lack of force,
the beast was too burdened...
There is a constant whispering.
Voices from a place I dare not venture.
My hands are bent and scarred, like twisted puppets.
How can I mend these broken dreams?
I can no longer traverse the seams,
now torn
beyond are the hopes I knew.
How do I mend the horses?
Is it not the hand of God that restores life
to dead things?
Why do his hands look like mine?
If I do not believe in myself,
how might I believe in him?
As a popular Youtuber put it:
"What is life?"
LOL
It seems the only question worth asking and worth an answer anymore. What would we even do with the answer? You've got to think about that. Is the answer worth anything?
I keep saying in my head, "God, I can only believe in you if you show up right here, right now." If he's not showing up, it surely means he doesn't want to. Maybe that means I'm a scumbag...
If you're one of those people who's been living for so long not knowing what you need, yet knowing you need something, I feel your pain. I think I'll write a poem about that next.
I hope you've enjoyed this poem.
DEW