I pour out my soul
In this little book of horrors.
The secrets it now contains
Will be forever misunderstood.
Within it are the curses
Of a life forever diseased
And littered with the corpses
Of a million ghastly woes.
I could’ve been happy
With the innocence of boyhood,
If this were a dream world
Where boys remain unscathed.
But this world is hell
And it rapes boys and girls!
It penetrates their purity
And molests their happy souls.
This world is cruel and cold.
It’s a wasteland of ghosts,
And innocence is lost eternal
In a pool of hot blood.
And so, here I lay
Writing, bleeding it all out
Like a ruptured aneurysm
Flooding the cranial cavity.
From my fingertips of pain
I write my life bare,
Stripped naked for all
To see and to misunderstand.
I pour out my soul
In this little book of horrors.
Nothing is ever secret or safe
From the judgment to come.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2017 18:28
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a reflective poem on the collection of poems I have written throughout my life, and continue to write. If people were to pick them up, they would be lost in a world of hurt, pain, and hell that they could not possibly understand as it was not theirs to go through. Every human goes through those things, and knows their own torment and pain, joy and happiness, and all the other things they experience; yet, when reading another's poetry or journal or song, there is no point of reference into that person's experiences apart from the words themselves. Thus, the words are bound to get misunderstood and, as a consequence of that, the person writing them will be forever misunderstood too.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments2
If indeed it was your life then this is cathartic; if not it reminds us of innocence denied and offers hope. So I see this as a winner in either case. I don't follow the misunderstanding, maybe that's just me.
Thanks! I am not sure if you read the comment to the poem. The misunderstanding is that, while the words convey darknesss, pain, torment, suffering, evil and those types of things, they do not convey why. The judgment that could and often does come from people who do not understand the person behind the words, and the things that could cause the person to think, feel and write in such ways, is what I meant by "misunderstanding." The words are there for all to read and understand, but only to the level that they can even understand as they were not the person that wrote them or went through the specific things that inspired the poem. We can know Poe, and Whitman, and Frost, and Shakespeare, and others, even knowing a bit of their biography; however, we cannot fully know what they were going through, or what they meant, at the time they wrote their great poems. All we can do is infer from their work the things they are emoting. I guess my point in the misunderstanding end of the poem is more of a philosophical reflection.
I love it. You may have your own idea of what was going on say in Poe's head and be totally off base. That is a very interesting perception. Thanks.
Very good write. In this day and age the world can be an awful place but peace and happiness are out there, sometimes they are not easy to find.
Thank you! They are indeed, and certainly not easy to find. I guess my poem was more about the loss of innocence that no one can avoid. With all of the hope that does exist in the world, it is in the midst of the hopelessness that we must seek the hope out. We're born with innocence, but that innocence is quickly lost to us. That's a painful truth, but one that is true nonetheless. Thanks for your feedback.
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