Ache Poem by Thomas Ware

The past speaks to me,
And bathes me in misery,
I can't remember the good parts,
Yet I am drowned in memory.
I want to go back to happier times,
A place with better, warmer climes.
But I remember only the art,
The sad images of wasted lives.
Every time I close my eyes,
My life flashes and I descry,
What bitter fruit we harvest,
From the days that are filled with lies.
I can't sleep but for the sound of voices,
Dead voices screaming loud with my mistakes.
I can't eat, or make my choices,
Because of the wrath of sour grapes.
I don't want to change, or to go back,
I only seek the dark,
The oblivion of silence black,
I wish to there I could embark.