The Poems of Despair.

Why are we all, all of a sudden poets?? yet we write not happy giddesh things but saddness and longing and madness and wronging? why do we even write at all? if we feel so sad were do we draw the energy to sit down and compose a poem, much less type it out and make it's structure so pretty and neat while it's words flow with pain and torture or hate and anger or need and despair? if you write a poem do not try to take awy from what it is but let it live the moment it was born to be as it is. not what you think will make another read it. for in the end it does not matter who reads it, for it was intended for you. So I am writing this poem to let it live and breathe outside of me for it came in a birthing of pain and agony and that alone gives it the right to exist and to coexist with the greatest of writings no matter who expelled them.


the Poem of a dieing heart.

Help me Father!


Everyday I scream out to you,
everyday I search for even the smallest clue.

a tiny semblance that you are there,
a small gift to show that you care.

Where am I?
Who am I?
What am I?
Why am I?

If you hear me, why won't you answer me?
Tell me is this what my punishment is to be?

To be completely seperated from you forever?
to spend an eternity only wishing we were together?

To cry in the lonely corners of my frail little mind.
To experience the great madness time after time?

If you know I love you, why do you hide?
and why do you allow the darkness to crawl up inside

Deep into my mind, always twisting and turning,
with visions of hell and an ever constant burning.

I feel like an ant just before it is killed,
looking up to see a god's foot and then feeling it's heel.

HELP ME FATHER!

How many times must I continue to say,
I'm sorry for what I do, but it just won't go away!

I have tried all I know and everything I could do,
but nothing is going to work, it going to take you.

You hold the power to set my spirit free,
and you also hold the power to make me never to be.

yet you do nothing but watch with no sign instead,
leaving me in my madness, wishing I were dead.

Just as Job wished, I wish never to have existed,
for all about me these horrors are persistant.

Increasing the sorrow of this tortured heart,
and tearing my poor sweet sanity all apart!

I cannot even begin to tell,
whether I'm alive or lost in hell.

Some days I'll wake up positive I know,
only to have it replaced by insanities flow.

leaving me trembling with tears in my eyes,
curled up on my bed whispering my goodbyes

How long? I ask, before you start the fire,
for if this is hell then it must be your desire,

That I burn for an eternity to pay for my sin,
please tell me when this madness will finally begin.

for in the instant it does then I will truely know
whether you really do love me or will just let me go.

Even still, it will not change my love for you,
because I may be wrong, but my love is true

I wish you had never made me and I never existed,
then to watch the love you gave me become horribly twisted

so much so that you would burn forever your own son
in a lake of fire, me and everyone.

Grouping us all together in one big burning,
and without care you just start turning

and walking away while your bad children burn
telling the good it's a lesson we must learn.

This is the reason that has stopped me so cold,
in believing the stories of you from old.

for as a father I know I could never do it.
to watch for an eternity as my child goes thru it

for god is love, and love would never understand,
the amount of hate it takes to burn a man.

not for a year, not even for a day,
but to allow it to go on for an eternity??

So I have to ask myself, are you even really GOD?
Or a phoney old man putting on a fake facade?

Help me father, to understand YOUR will and INTENTIONS!

and then dear sweet creator of my spirit,
help me to fight them!