Soul of the dead

Soul of the dead

A Poem by Stephan E. Weller

struggles with mental illness and PTSD


The years that have past have been hard and cruel

They give my heart pain and hurt its fuel

I have seen so many things and so many spaces

How could have I been able to experience so many places

I have not been around too long

I regret the things I have done wrong

From the beatings I incurred and gave

Is there some way my soul can be saved

From the lies, deceit and turmoil

My life and others it has seemed to spoil

  I chose to lie about what I have done

Because in time those things have come to fruition

I now repair this broken soul and heart

And try to go back from the start

I try and try to give myself that ultimate new beginning

Without the memories of times past to keep winning

But it is hard when you hear the tunes of the era

And with help from the magic pill straterra

But against mine and chemical power I am still left in this grand abyss

I wonder how people can say I enjoy this

Without hope without my dreams for comfort

My thoughts twist and contort

When will it stop and end

So quality time for me I can spend

 It’s there every moment night and day

So much that even in my dreams I can not stray

Leaving me drained tired and drained

So when others see through my eyes they see pain

It coils and winds around my brain and heart

With no ending and no start

Constricting as the anaconda does

Squeezing every ounce of dignity into dust

It suffocates my spirit my soul

And drop the remains with disdain so bold

I wonder why I keep pressing forward when I am so tired

When I know with this illness I am mired

But there is something. Something pushing me

Something carrying me to see

That my life has not been a waste

That the good and wondrous things I can have a taste

To enjoy each gold nugget that comes my way

And for a moment to stay

In the new memories of a new life

With dignity respect or maybe even a wife

I try and try to not to go way of the madness

And remember to let go of the past sadness

With a new day in this world of mine

And it will turn out good as long as I am taking my time

Taking the time to stop and smell those fragrant soft pedals

And not worry of thorns, needles and nettles

Because life isn’t always about hurt pain and sorrow

It is also about the happiness we borrow

From ourselves and others

If we did it more often this world we can cover

With hugs love and joy

And not treat others as mere toys

I look forward to the day when I can do this things I write

For now they are settled some place just out of my sight

Snuggled warm in their own little beds

Waiting and hiding from the soul of the dead

© 2010 Stephan E. Weller

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Added on August 30, 2010
Last Updated on August 30, 2010


Stephan E. Weller
Stephan E. Weller

Henderson, NV

I have always had a love of writing but until the last few years have I really started trying to write. I am a very late bloomer considering I am in my early forties and just now trying to write and p.. more..