Creativity

The artist is forever tortured

Ripped from grace, and torn from glory
Lain face down to die
The dirt roads that tell the story of my life
Have caged my soul to dry
The corner that listened could never explain
The creativity I've burned in my life
The feelings that loomed
Over my shoulders
Could never express this truth
With the chords burning red
Hands aching from punishment
Forever descending toward the fate you've placed
Leaving me numb,    and comfortless
The pain in my chest, the pain in this heart
Never ceasing to be
The blood on my hands, the hatred of light
Tearing my soul from me
Alone in the mind, feelings never combine
Thoughts spin around in a whirlwind of sick
I medicate this uneasiness further
Further down the drain
Ripped from grace and torn from glory
LAIN FACE DOWN TO DIE

Reviews

[Passingdaze]

As much s**t as I give you.,.Damn. This was a good one,g.

[Tkess]

This poem reminds me of what Charles Bukowski once said, "You have to die a few times before you can really live."

What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.

[Ruth]

Oh wow! One thing about your work that strikes my core is the fact that you leave no word unturned...you surge through powerful emotion and allow it bleed! Awesome love xx