Pangs

Pour sadness into my frail heart
until it shrinks and breaks
Pour fire unto the bleeding brains
And ice on cold eyes

If time can pass this even grief
And stumble not in awe
Let it pass and heal this storm
And quench the sheared throat of my thoughts
That raze in blood of endless wars
And scars of futile smiles
Which bred but from the aging whims
Of misreadings and misgivings.
Was I really wrong, really?
Were I a miser in love, and beggar in resolve,
would it be a tighter fit?
But let it be. It doesn’t matter any more.
My poor wound has lost too much a blood
to be aware of reality anymore.
It’s over.
My heart sinks,
unrequited love has sucked it dry
and tears have loosened their gates.
I ain’t alive.
Just a memory of my childhood mettle
flickers on its last shards.
The road is rough and night is permanent.
And the pain is unbearable.
God rescue me, I’m the same boy
who could ride the tempests
with a solemn hold.
I still can become myself.
Is this an escape glimmer or a reaction to hell?

Sometimes you have to pick yourself up.
Stop looking for a helping hand.
Sometimes you need to tear away your feelings
and crumble it to oblivion
Sometimes you need to fight just to stay alive
To breathe
To shed the rope-a-dope
To break the static friction
And start you rolling
To remember your life’s purpose
To beat you back to senses
And spur into the dancing shoes again
And make the irreversible comeback in style.