- Books, Literature, and Writing
Cries From the Past
I wrote this years ago. It isn't so much a poem as my inner thoughts at the time being released. It came after my first true heartbreak.
Blood, sweat, tears, love, hate, years.
The ingredients of life...
As I sit here pondering my life, and the recent events that have so drastically shaped it, it dawns on me that all twenty-one years of it have been meaningless.
I have built and rebuilt the foundations for my future, only to see them corroded again by the acid rain that the world pours on me.
The sad little thrills and frills of this planet only satisfy for a short time.
Caring too much is a weakness. Trying too hard will always fail. Loving too much will always destroy its own cause.
I don't think I’m designed to fall into life's little categories. Politically correct is bullshit. Manners are masks. Saying the "right thing" all the time is just lying.
My future is towering over me, laughing at my failure.
My present is trapped between my past and future.
My past is ashamed.
My heart will always remember its first true love.
It will always smile when it recalls the things that warmed it like no other.
It will always feel pain remembering the feeling like blades passing through it.
Increasingly...the things that most people care about...they fade into nothingness in my mind. I try to imagine what it would be like to go through life as a robotic drone of existence. I can't. Maybe I’m meant for more. Maybe I’m destined for nothing at all.
Maybe everything that makes up my heart, mind, and soul will influence nothing more than my own biography and gravestone markings.
I tried. I did. I’m spent. Life goes on.
But the past will always haunt me. Always.
© copyright Ben D.A 2011