Dear Life

"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness." - Robert Frost

I sit with the pen in hand
The ink is kissing the paper
An apology to heartbreak
Judgment day is sooner not later

With every crispy stroke
My eyes fill with tears
And my words flow easier
Blocking the sounds I hear

A silent buzz in my ears
A sort of numbness in my chest
My heart crying out to my soul
“Put my agony to a rest”

I ponder with the thoughts in my head
Debate, Deliberate & Discuss
I can’t describe this feeling
Is it revulsion, trepidation or disgust?

I look down onto the paper and see
The ink has made love to my tears
United in cause, hand in hand
to bring back life to my years

I keep writing and writing and writing
Words racing to get out of my head
If only I can stand up to you
And let my thoughts be said

But you stole my voice
And ripped out my chords
You slit my heart
Used doubt as your sword

I finish this off by saying I’m not finished
I’ll continue to pour my heart out in vain
I can say so much, yet it means so little
On this page my blood will dry the pain