Sitting in a classroom
Wondering what is true, struggling with all my might
The past swirls around me, my pen is a broom
Sweeping up the dust and cobwebs I begin to write
I can barely remember what I was feeling
As the story began to take form
The tears filled my eyes they were burning
Words were mumbled the ink run and worn
I cried a lot that day
Releasing the tide within me
No one knew quite what to say
The ghosts were taunting, hurting, screaming...so much pain
Every word they yelled louder
Every rhyme a scream in my head
Eventually they got softer
But they are not fully dead
The seep into my mind while I'm sleeping
They are the nightmares that leave me awake and trembling
They are the whispers at a gate
The knocking of a door
With each poem I grow stronger
The words force me to face my fears
The love that tore my heart asunder
The friends that nearly drowned me in my tears
The fires of hate that cleansed me
The gentle lilt of a song
The pain released the chains I am free
No one tells me anymore where I belong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Eden, every poem begins from somewhere. The pain is the process that lead to their development... the writing releases the pain. Keep writing! Brian