Damn the light I cannot see,
May darkness hover over me.
Hell and damnation!
Up them blues!
In need of stimulation
Down them pills!
Shiver my soul, but does it hurt?
What is all this writing worth?
Does anyone read it with an open mind?
Or am I just wasting my fucking time?
Do the words rhyme, do the words seem to fit?
Shall I be detached, or a part of it?
Who’s to say, what’s to do?
Does anyone have control over you?
At last, I put down my pen
At last, at last the gates open
At last, I’m free to pursue at will
At last, at last, the pen is still
Damn the light, I cannot see,
Beyond the clouds that cover me.
Alone I am, in a dead man's world,
Paper caught in whirlwind's twirl
A million times over, a million times through
Whatever will become of you?
Why must you lock yourself away?
And write and write until Judgement Day?
This gift you write and cannot speak.
The mountain that you cannot peak.
The thoughts that remain to be found.
The images that need a sound
With meticulous attention, meticulous care,
Dear poet, where does end your flair?
At last, I put away my pen
At last, at last, the dam is open
At last, I’m free to wander my mind
At last, at last, the very last time.
(when writing in times of frustration
who gives a wang ‘bout concentration?
if the words do fit,
it’s right to use it!
and who gives a fuck about translation?)