Ravings, from a Broken Songbird
I just don’t feel good.
Every time I linger in my consciousness, I want to leave.
Why is the day full of sorrows?
Why can’t I just be me?
I can’t accept the things I do, how I’m treated, and feel like a mobile imprisonment.
I want God to dwell within me, not this rascal devil mocking my moves making me idle.
I’m a used person.
People come to me because maybe I’m one of the few that listens, but what does that matter at this point! ?
The illusions are everywhere.
I don’t want to listen to anybody, because I’m a walking piece of dynamite.
Hardly, I’m ever happy.
This is a torrent of despair.
This is not happiness.
I’m just going mad by the second and realize that my end may be sooner than I think.
Yes, I love life and want to involve myself within but the duration of these disturbing feelings is too much to bear.
Deep down, I want to be able to love the people I know to the utmost.
Why am I not permitted so?
I’m trapped in my being, my soul wants out.
What can be allowed for a miscreant?
I can’t concentrate,
I’m losing sleep throughout the night,
I am aloof from all else.
Love, where are you so?
How come you are hiding from me?
Out of all people that need you in the world,
This impoverished, good-for-nothing, devil-rascal
Has a destructive lust for what you offer to those privileged to
Taste the delicious fruit from your tender hand.
I’ve been without my woman for too long, I’ve been out of tune with my music,
I’m losing touch of myself, I’m losing the interest of company,
I’m becoming a sleepless burden.
These words are for an audience, who knows of deep pain,
Deep loneliness, complete abandonment, and fatal sadness.
I barely carry on, I barely see past today, I barely can find satisfaction,
I only know I’m hurt and it’s been going on for a long time.
The company of my friends used to distract me,
Now I feel like I’m being mutilated, and becoming estranged to them.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Ravings, from a Broken Songbird by Rafael Cazares )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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