Sep 13 2011
Coldhearted
A pain wells up inside. A fear that conquers truth
A depression that seeks solitude. Slowly murders all that matters.
When she cuts away herself and leaves you to yourself. What else is left, but self?
Self-inflicted scars. Self-induced melancholy. Magnanimous martyrdom.
Selfish creatures are we: trapped in this feeble flesh, this “reality”.
Failing. Falling. Clinging to hope trying to coax this back to life.
This last dying ember in this frigid winter’s night
Alas! Still, there is hope: so long as this ember burns bright.
That this can be ablaze again. For as the adage proclaims:
that love warms the coldest souls, staves off the hardships and the pains
Desparatly, I must persevere. Try as I must to cast aside this fear.
Seeking out that calming, sweet embrace: an acceptance, sought both far and near.
Crying out to the fates: Love, make haste! Or this soul is soon perish and go to waste.
This frigid, jaded heart, so fragile it may shatter, lest a gentle touch lifts it from the ice.
A fear, when she draws near she fails to see beyond the cold pale
To the core of what it truly is: A still and lifeless heart before you.
Baring all before you, naked in singular truth!
Still, you gasp a sigh and shy away. An offensive obscenity.
Understandably. One may see, How it encroaches on sensibility.
A warm tear falls from the cheek Hits the ice heart and fractures.
Irony is that it only sought to be warm. And all it took was one teardrop.
Has this broken heart lost all value? Can a healer mend such damage?
And who the hell left such fragility out in this cold to suffer?
They say it takes two, but that can’t be true
I refuse to believe that this could possibly be
Any way even partially self-induced
Who would ever seek such abuse?
A tragic irony, this futility
Set me free!
Anybody?
…
I see…
I see.
This is my destiny.
Though, in this tragic moment,
I wish it were not so.
First of all, dude, I might sound odd, but your poems sound cool already just because you use “big words”.
Your rhyming is sort of confusing, yet actually seems to captivate the reader with its unexpectedness(?)
One thing, tho. Desparatly? Desperately, perhaps? Typo?
Great poem. I loved it.
This is one of the best poems i have ever read and funny thing is i understood every single word of it
Yeah, thanks for the kind words. When I write, it’s more for flow and continuity, more like spoken word and prose.
My rhyming may not necessarily fit the best and I think I may have focused too much on spitting rhyme.
If I typed the whole thing with only one typo at 2 AM, well then, that’s not too bad…
As a fellow poet wanntig to do the same thing you’re doing, I’d suggest you start with a book of 50 (of your best possible poems) as an experiment. If the initial book becomes popular or sells well, aim for 100. But remember, if you want a book professionally made, make sure your work is 100% of quality. Most importantly write it because you love the art not because of the income it can bring.