I am feeling down
In the dumps
It is not your fault
My friend
I totally blame myself for it
Yesterday I was feeling
Tired all day
I even felt asleep in front of the computer
I had no excuses
I had to go right away to bed
This morning I woke up
At 5:59 am
I got ready to started the day
I had my big healthy breakfast
It feel me up until lunch time
I am a poet and I write poetry
And I must say that is what I do best
Feeling rather lost
my darling mother passed
my heart feels ripped out
leaving me empty inside
She was 96; weak at the end
I know she was glad to go
she missed my father
and was pleased to join him
She was one hell of a lady
very strong willed to the end
she hated it when I cried
told me not to be so silly
I struggle to accept she's gone
wish I could see her again
she lives on in my thoughts
my heart holds her close
for Betty Hillier 9th of may 1929 to 24th July 2-25
I once had me a dark-haired lover,
I was riding high on our romance.
She said she would be mine forever,
so, I decided to take the chance.
Then I found out she was the devil,
just all dressed up in an angel’s clothes.
She taught me the path to happiness,
is where I will never get to go.
I thought I could still tell right from wrong,
how good and bad are supposed to be.
But if I’ve learned one thing in this life,
true love is something I’ll never see.
Each time I try to climb the mountain,
somewhere down the line I always fell.
Instead of going through Heaven’s gates,
I’d end up right back here in this Hell.
I’m walking through this heartless city,
on a cold and windy winter’s morn.
My soul is as hard as this sidewalk.
my heart is tattered, ripped, and torn.
These empty streets on Sunday morning,
when I have no other place to go,
They will make a man feel more alone,
than alone should ever have to know.
I’m not looking for something special,
I’m just trying hard to dodge life’s blow.
When you know you’ll never reach the top,
down in the dumps does not feel too low.
Down in the Dumps
Fog everywhere I’m walking on a mass of corpses
sludge of soft rotting soil. Sinking deeper, arms
and legs embracing me as I should be one of them.
In a lake of loss I swam ashore, a soup of death,
banks of bones, a woman in white helped me up...
she too was the haze and disappeared. I totter in
a desert of nothingness. I heard footsteps behind
me the death wanted me to return to the lagoon of
reconstructed dreams. Heart pounding, but there,
by a horizon, dawn and sun of life warmed my face,
but only briefly. The sky rained blood of the evicted.
Drops were rubies and in each one the nucleolus of
my lies and delusion engraved. Inundated I stopped
could not go on, how do I get free of barbed wire of
melancholy?” Whispering voices: “You ****ing loser.”
lifes a little joke but im not laughing
helpless to the things happening
wanting to grow and learn to laugh again
to heal old scars and avoid new bruises
to make new friends and honor old truces
scared to move yet must move on
all lifes story one long sad song
pick up the tempo sad wont work
im sick of depression sick of hurt
sick of pain and being double crossed
sick of striving for my memories lost
nothings for real unless you see it
words useless unless you mean it
sat for so long writing sad poems
scared of who sees or knows them
so happy for everything but not content
wishing to take back messages sent
a lonely kid 18 years young
struggling against the rope he hung
i am the shaken and the distraught
i am rebellious against all things taught
i am loud in silence and quiet on the podium
i am an unbeliever unless i see or hold them
i am the pun to every sad joke
i am wealthy yet emotionally broke
i need an anchor before im lost
i need a faith a book or cross
i need something i cannot find
something held thats only mine
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