Old Poetry

I used to write poetry a lot when I was in High School and for a little while after I graduated. Lately, I have not been writing very much, but I still read a lot of my stuff. Most of it, looking back, is very juvenial and young, but some I feel are still very good. I will occasionally post some of my favorite old poems, and this is my first "From the Vault" poem.

I wrote it when I was already out of high school, but I have to say this is the one poem I remember the least about writing. I was at a very hard time in my life emotionaly, and this is just what came out. Everytime I read it I get a different meaning out of it, and this poem is one that still resonates with me. I hope you enjoy it.

A Rant and A Rave

By Leigh Klesel March 5th, 2007

The definition of pain is the failure to act when you know you should.

A failure to get out and be able to start existing.

Without it the entire system would collapse into itself,

and the people would clamor the rooftops for more depravity.

What is true love and is it found or made?

I have the feeling but neglect to have the heart.

Rotten, black, hollow is the only way to describe my pain.

I wish he was here, I dont even know who he is, what he looks like.

I thought I did but that ended in tragedy for myself .

Where am I going,

sailing deeper into an abyss of sorrows,

I wish I could sing,

I would shake the foundations of this concrete jungle with sweet sounds of remorse and loss.

Broken is the recurring theme of my harrowed soul,

why must I be alone to carry a torch that has long since run out of fuel and flame?

Broken is the sound of collapse.

Broken is the feeling of neverending loss.

Broken by definition

is myself in a state of complete breakdown.

Where the hell am I?

Living between one dream and another.

This is not an existence.

This is sorrow at its most primitive form.

This is hell on earth and I am sitting right hand to the devil himself, holding his hate.

Lies to myself.

Lies to him.

Lies over love is this the way to go.

I should end it all.

Strike myself down for the uncleanliness is hard to distinguish between us.

Is there no end to this road.

Is there no end to my soul.

Is it even real?

Where am I?

This is not the world I was promised.

This is not the life that was envisioned.

Break free from these shackles of pain and remorse only to cut the lifeline of oneself in hope of a greater something.

The fear of a greater nothing is what keeps me in orbit through this miserable existence.

This will be my last stand.

for on this day I stand alone on a shrine of lies, hate, fear, and tears.

Tears have comforted me in the dark through a untold number of sleepless nights.

This will be the end of it all.

Darkness permits only darkness and I willl slumber into it.

Thank you to all that believe in me, even to this point of disparity.

Thank you to all who tried to help me.

It is now my turn.

I laughed, kissed, and attempted to love.

Life becomes at this moment ironic as I wright with one hand and send the hammer back with the other.

One Last irony.

One last laugh.

I'm exhasted.

I shall lie here forever alone.

For there is only myself to comfort me from this day fourth.