Ace Of Black Hearts

Silver Star - 3,373 Points (04/17/1984 / Homa Lousiana)

Some Things Can Only Be Felt - Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

A salute with sounds of guns fire.
Good bye and hello in the same note.
Oh how can you really be gone?
Everything seem so distant now.
Is any of this even real?

A hand to the cracked glass framed picture that will never do you justice.
I miss so many things about you.
Will I meet you again in another life?
Soul mates that can't even be separated by gods surgical knife.
Blessed it be of those wishes I have yet to see.

Deprived of something so necessary.
How could anyone ever understand?
Psychologically damaged.
A emotional scar forever to be carried.
It's only one of many.
And it takes its toll.
Still I haven't yet crossed a single bridge.

You can't buy happiness.
Once its gone it can not be so easily replaced.
It's has ravaged me to the point of disgrace.
Lusting for vengeance.
Not willing to take any help from friends.
Complete and utter isolation.

The build up of all this hatred.
Does it ever get better in time.
Forever playing back our last moments in my mind.
A trace of a taste that is so truly desired.
I call to her and all I feel is pain.
Waking to the dreadful night of screams.
Smoke and mirrors of that which should be clearly seen.

Some things are not logical.
A rhyme can be without reason.
A descending into the darkness.
The crown of those already lost can never be found.
Without it are we all doomed to drown.
Gasping just to breath.
Somebody please end these bad dreams.

The faucet to these ghoulish demons continues to run.
Corpses do not speak or walk around.
We are not suppose talk to what's not really there.
But know in my heart somewhere you can hear me.
So I continue to come.
Once a week, once a month, or once a year what is really considered of stereotypical normality that defines those who do not have mental illness?
Should I even care if there are those who think of me as crazy?
So far nobody has swayed me.

Mourning is not suppose to be so quick.
I don't think it ever ends.
You continue on but with reluctance of those who have been left behind.
There influence is forever felt, what would she have wanted me to do.
And then choices are made.
The lunar eclipse effect looms over every one of my parades.
In small doses and only so slowly.

Trying not to over diagnose or medicate.
If only I was my own doctor.
A morphine drip till in my sleep my body would function no more.
The ways I would end it quietly and quickly.
Suicidal is the thoughts that bleed across this page.
Escaping what I think to be ill and a unfair fate.

But moral obligations stop me every time.
They are always more reason to live then die.
A single life is so precious and rare that it is unknown of any other planets with this type of existence.
That single fact is what should drive us all to survive.

But how many of us will?
How many of us really will?

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 17, 2013

Poem Edited: Friday, January 18, 2013

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