I am wounded in reality.
As I fight my chemicals,
I must also, fight my heart,
As i now go,
To push through the dark.
And breathe,
Breathe deep,
Deep is the pain,
As deep as the grief.
This is so hard to believe,
I have lost my heart.
All those years of wonder,
shed to the past.
I must have,
Some sort of shield,
As it seems to grief,
I cannot yield.
Numb under a pane,
The knowledge cuts through,
Again and again,
I cannot block the pain.
There is a well of sadness, madness and darkness,
Where once, my heart lay,
No where now, is the sun,
No light in these days.
This house is hollow,
I feel just a ghost,
A specter of memory,
Trapped, within this entropy.
I must move myself,
I must move my stuff,
The scepter of hate,
Do I take it?
Leave it,
That thing of hate,
Bury it deep from the light,
Where all the secrets go,
To die, a whispered lie.
I look and quake,
Afraid of this night,
To move in wounded reality,
Away from my heart.
Swept by sadness,
Melting in melancholy,
Rich with ruin,
My life lays strewn in madness.
Is it possible,
For the world,
To feel pain?
Does it grieve, everyday?
I think of things,
That I can never forget,
I live in the past,
Bathed everyday, in regret.
© Colin Hope 2017.