First in Solitude

After a tragic event, the first night on my own

How is it that I can ever feel better? 

What sick desire grows within me that 

tries to justify my own happiness; 

when I have done such hurt to others? 

 

What in me seeks noise, and to avoid the quiet places? 

Something that knows the pain quiet would bring. 

Reflection to memory, memory to guilt. 

Guilt to a slow death. 

Not death of the flesh. That would be a mercy. 

Death of my soul - my body, a shell for my heart-sick spirit. 

 

My seeds, grown to saplings, no longer do I tend. 

Wind, storms, harsh sun - I cannot protect my little trees. 

Some say they’ve been taken from me, but my heart 

will not tolerate the lies. 

 

I left my trees. I can check on them from time to time... 

but only to observe. 

My influence is gone. 

My poetry is gone. 

My power is gone 

What cruelty this that I still have breath?

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Well, guilt sucks, that's for sure. This offering is filled with pain and self loathing from beginning to end. It goes beyond depression. Who knows what events occasioned this dark night? Unless the speaker is a war criminal, I feel his self punishment pleases neither God nor man.