This one's gonna get a little dark. I don't actually remember when I wrote this one, but as someone that has struggled with depression, writing has been one method of exposing my feelings in an attempt to cope with them. This is a recurring theme I've noticed in my writing through the years. I rarely read old poetry after I pen it, but to look back on some of these darker times makes me feel a little stronger knowing that I survived whatever it was that I felt was dragging me down.
A
branch to be pruned before it’s in bloom
Thorns
in my knees and blood tainted hands
Praying
in brambles with no light of moon
Misery’s
pleas outnumber the sands
A
sanguine bath blurs my eyes
Why
do I have to be alive?
Wings
of a dove clipped just before flight
Falling
in spirals of destiny’s making
Just
as the arrow shot swift through the night
A
nightingale silenced before it can sing
Corpse
of mortality covered in flies
Why
do I have to be alive?
Drowning
in pools of cold memories
While
warm blood is trickling down trembling limbs
Coughing,
I feel my lungs start to seize
The
match will not light amidst circling winds
Desperately
sifting life’s sands filled with lies
Why
do I have to be alive?
I
call to the Heavens, entreating demise
Gathering
black skies mocking my plea
Boots
of my conscience having muddied through time
Endless
my suffering, Death, set me free.
Why
do I have to be alive?
by Derek Herzberg
The picture is a great representation of this poem. Good stuff.
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