Philosophy of Pain

I've lost faith, I can't keep on.
And yet I keep on hoping merely for the sake of not giving up.

I'm slowly growing stronger,
Day by day, hour by hour.
I'm still living in this life.

Yet, what matters of the strength?
It's all deceit, all lies.
The only one I'm hurting is myself.

Treacherous heart, when will you learn that it never ends?
It never gives you peace.

Love that's forgotten is only but hidden.
Pain that's gone will return, it's only a matter of time.
A broken heart is a thousand times more fragile
When put back together.

There's always something to remind me.
I can never be fully happy,
Because I'll always remember and know there's something missing.

Do I just accept betrayal?
Do I have a choice?
There's no answer for my questions, it seems.

A memory is a bitter-sweet thing.
It brings the joys and smiles of sweet yesterdays,
But it also brings back reality,
The reality that is forged off of tears and anguish

Reviews

[Michelle Stinson]

I know you're grieving in some fashion and that poetry has become an outlet for that pain. I too, use, my writing to purge. But, occasionally, just every once in a while, find something else, a leaf, a bug, a shaft of sunlight on a porch, and let it inspire you to something else. Let yourself daydream and drift into a poem that is not sad. I'm not saying don't continue to use your poetry as an outlet; but grow in other ways as a poet too. It will help you, not just to grow as a poet but to pull you out of the abyss you have found yourself in - trust me.