The Heart Vice Poem by Thomas Ware

I can't understand,
This longing deep within my chest,
It aches and burns and it is cold and red,
And it's like a black hole,
But not black its blue,
With sorrow,
And knowledge,
And ideas long out of tune,
And it comes to life with beauty
And music and anger and death,
For they are the same thing,
For the music is just the energy,
The expression of a feeling,
And this ache is filled deep with the past and longing and despair,
And I wish that I could create the beauty,
And music that inspires me,
But I can't,
For inspiration is pain and sorrow and happiness,
And it's a need and want that I can never satisfy,
A hunger within my soul for the pain of the world to cease,
For it is unfair that I can not enjoy my life,
But it is who I am,
And I can not change my misery,
Nor come to grips,
With the fact that illusion is the only happiness,
And that I can never be at peace as long as I seek meaning.
For the meaning is the name and the identity,
And I cannot find myself,
Among the endless dusty bookshelves of forgotten lore,
No matter how much I create,
The ache remains,
And it burns,
And I seek destruction and fire and death and energy and oblivion,
But my body betrays me,
As the material world betrays me,
And I can not satisfy this urge, this craving,
For the beauty and fire and destruction and music,
And somehow they are all the same.