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I love to pen the poems
of dunes and lake and rain
there are times for those but
also for my sonnets of pain
Shakespeare, or his ghost writ
bled out his heart in rhyme
I find dank verse comforting
their harsh jarring notes sublime
I've a black parade of memories
but I won't sing a morbid tune
I'd a death-eater dad for that
it's to the falling but trying I croon
ever notice how "help" can hurt?
on essential cruelty BS we're fed
healing by inflicting suffering
to bloodletting nonsense we're wed
Sure there's stuff I don't know
but I really don't get why
if help helps and hurts hurts
will it actually help if I die?
Cuz it really hurts like hell
That's how "therapy" can feel
by gutting, debriding and dicing are
they cutting off more than they heal?
That's where poetry has a place
to our suffering it gives voice
you can opt bearing down and tearing
but know that you have a choice
we can sing out our bleeding
or in theatre we can bleed out
is everything salvageable with verse?
that's what this verse is about
It's naive and yet I find
salve in my bitter refrain
my soul wounds embracing
instead of opening up a vein
So let the blackness come
let sorrowing heart waters flow
let justice roll down like tears
as to my River Styx I go
That's where the prussic acid
in my black rhymes originates
damned dammed up flood rivers
neither pooh-poohs nor placates
no condescending shush-hushing
Hurt must be screamed out in song
all the little lost souls grieved for
this shit won't be quiet for long
so with this ship I'll go down
and on this bloody hill I'll die
let's quit spit-balling platitudes
and take a stand on the why
why so many broken people?
why do they choose the dark side
call it what you will it's the same
self-harm, or dare we say suicide?
So let's name it and claim it
with guns and bombs we're sending
so many to what it fucking is
the endless end without ending
and I don't have rhyme for that.
Some us went down that path
to their promised uncloudy day
us blind, crippled, lame and insane
sent on our hopeless, helpless way
And it's because I well recall
many filthy, grimy bleak days
I don't want any of mine to
trod in my footprinted dark ways
ways which were preordained
by my death eating dad of yore
ways which I inherited but still
I don't want to go down anymore
so now we come to the gist
to prevent I WILL go down the
fiery slide to Hades and more
whatever it takes to protect them
I'll open up that unhallowed door
I'm not brave but I owe
to my beloved posterity
to exorcise demons so we
can I hope live clean and free
but I'll admit that I'm anxious
to face down Satan's horde
may handsome boatman Charon
ferry us both safely back to shore
with love to my handsome boatman
Albert by name, psychopomp by trade
(photo is me around 7 already carrying a lot of pain)
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