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Melissa Wise Poem
I cling to this blade of silver, sharp and cold,
Trying to forget all that I was told.
My mind is numb, still my body feels.
Look inside, see the invisible scars that will never heal.
Thin red lines, seeping red.
Although I am alive, most of ME is dead.
With each cut I make with this blade
I feel more of ME fade away.
Crying and rocking, I look at what I have done.
My skin is marred and I wish the guilt were gone.
Every time it is exactly the same.
I seek to find refuge by causing my pain.
Finding a calm always before the storm.
It is after this calm that Shadow takes form.
My demons arise to tell me that I've failed.
I will find no rest in life, only my self created hell.
The days now blend. Not one is different from the other.
Hands of Death, my mouth they do cover.
They hold me so tightly, struggling I draw breath.
For now I am held captive, captive in the hands of Death.
Watch me fade as the clocks runs it's race.
To die would be sweet, with no more demons to face.
Copyright © Melissa Wise | Year Posted 2005
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Melissa Wise Poem
How do close the doors to your past without fearing one will someday find that key?
How do you keep the grueling shadows of a life long gone locked away in quiet memory?
How do you look at the years gone by without feeling the gladness of sorrow?
In shattered splinters all realities of this universe somehow come back to the place of their birth.
Resting in the torment of thoughts revisited and unkind hands to the mercy at which I lay.
I tunnel through the darkness searching diligently for the sign of even faintest light to chase away
the evil that is armed so heavily.
One day in the waves of the river I will wash away the past and let it entrap me no more.
Where is the river and how do I forget all I never knew about the life I so readily gave into?
Is it in my mind or is it tangible?
Is it fate or is it fact?
With a tear stained face I seek to know the truth and wait expectantly.
Copyright © Melissa Wise | Year Posted 2005
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Melissa Wise Poem
Transparent is the wall so effectively constructed to keep me in.
My eyes can capture what is beyond this towering circle of crystal and glass.
But, now, seeing for me is no longer enough to appease the ever growing desire to roam.
As I peer through the barrier separating this world I call my existence and the world I want so badly to experience,
I feel all pressures of good society saying their quaint little sayings that are as empty and hollow as the space in my
soul.
For me, contentment has long passed away and restlessness is now dominant in every facet of my life.
To look through the glass, to see beyond the glass, to see the so ordinary leaf attached to the so ordinary tree.
To be able to touch the glass that is touching the leaf, but still not attaining the texture of the leaf its self.
Utter torment this is to be so close to freedom, yet it would matter not if it were worlds away.
Far in the distance I see a narrowing road, this is the road that will one day carry me to the desires of my heart.
I pray all forces of nature will crash down on this pitiful little existence shattering the glass prison to set me free,
free into a world with no boundaries or limitations that are not of my own choosing.
Copyright © Melissa Wise | Year Posted 2005
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Details |
Melissa Wise Poem
Given to me this task that is too much to bare.
The task of not acknowledging my sad,sad heart.
I begin to think of days when you were near.
Days that I strive to convince myself you never really existed,
Only in the deep corners of my mind were you real.
If you are a phantom, and love wasn't actually,
Then my heart has no reason to feel pain.
There is no point to remember what did not occur.
Steeped in the desolation that I, myself, created within,
Using you as the not so useful tool,
I suffer remorse for making the choice to love.
You are, to me, a rose, a thing of incredible beauty.
But as I take you in my hand I feel the pain of my decision
Piercing through my flesh.
Crimson streams begin to flow, but I dare not let go
until the agony of feeling who you are is complete.
How is it beautiful thing, that you can be so delicate
but wound me so deeply?
Can you feel the exact emotion of regret as I?
Or are you so unaware of your power that you truly are
innocent of my bloodshed?
Copyright © Melissa Wise | Year Posted 2005
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