My early memories are fond to me,
chasing butterflies, getting stung by bees.
There was a rock on which I lay,
a tiny boy-child in love with the day.
Older I grew to becoming a man,
Mom was my love, and Dad had a plan.
I knew I'd taste greatness if any man can,
but God gives us tragedies as we move to the man
that we wish to become, and the games of our youth,
are broken an torn as our mother is loosed
from her sad earthly body to join God up above,
and there is no one there for us and we lose all our love.
We then try so vainly as we struggle each day,
each day we grow older lacking all means to say,
that the reason we live is now gone, passed away,
and we drift on an ocean of anguish and rage.
We try hard to cling to the things that she gave,
the knowledge, the love, we try so hard to save.
But in truth she is gone, and Dad beats us some days,
and no matter how you slice it we must mature with our age.
Older we grow, but then so does the hate.
And the pain turns to agony, we feel it's too late.
We don't find the girl to e'er take her place,
and all things we try send us flat on our face.
The Army? We fail. Then it really begins.
Our minds tear asunder, and we start to give in.
Those at the asylum, they care and they're kind,
but then on the outside we return home to find
that nothing has changed, that they still hate us so,
only now more than ever, and we're beaten by blows
that we never did cause, that we never will change.
The father and grandparents have no use for the game
of loving their charges - though the children love them,
and the hate and the violence just repeat all again.
The siblings we love, all younger than we,
all try their hardest to also be free,
pills, sex, and booze and all manner of weeds,
giving sweet respite, providing for needs
that should all be met by parents who care,
but no one is home when no love is there.
Older, still older, and finally alone,
a smallish apartment but finally alone.
But the voices are present, and always they are:
"You could be President! Why aren't you a star?!"
Another state, the same problems,
and fact blurs to fiction.
The siblings all suffer,
fall prey to addictions.
College again, but that's never an answer,
just more of the same with lies as the ransom
for the girls who are frigid (he thought he was handsome)
and life pierces through him with all of its lances.
Later - still later, an apartment again,
the piano, which soothed him, is no longer his friend.
His father had killed it with all of his lies,
a mad, evil bastard he had grown to despise.
Finally, eviction - but his brother is near,
and he's sure he will save him, if not then he fears,
that never again will he leave this cold town,
just another mad poet buried deep in the ground.
A contest entry
- Where have You Been ? by RuthKephart.
800 points, ended May 10, 2007, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - It is better a man be abused than forgotten. [sam johnson] by Puking Faerie Dust.
925 points, ended March 21, 2008, 26 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
-
The flow of this was really good, and the descriptions were so sad. If this is true, I admire your strength for writing this. The ending was great and didn't disappoint me as some endings do.
Thank you for entering, and good luck
Jeanette*~ -
Well Written poetry -- Sad, but True?
Autobiographical? This is like reading a good, clear, factual news story, except in good poetry form. Very enjoyable to read, but I am quite concerned for the person in this poem.
------------
-
A bit depressing but definitely realistic. The rhythm seemed off in parts but it didn't lesswen the impact for me. I like the last line the most. It sounds like the kind of poem that was written in a torrent of emotion. Nice work.
Mark
-
Powerful
A bit depressing but definitely realistic. The rhythm seemed off in parts but it didn't lessen the impact for me. I like the last line the most. It sounds like the kind of poem that was written in a torrent of emotion. Nice work.
Mark
-
This is really great... I like it a lot... definately worth an amazing placing in this contest and hope you do well. My pleasure to read! Rock on! xoxo Meg
-
Wow
I am just in awe. Such a moving poem, very moving words. I was just on the verge of crying. That is very sad... and heartbreaking, but very, very true. I love the way you wrote this
"Older, still older, and finally alone,
a smallish apartment but finally alone."
emphsizing that he is alone, and lonely. Very well done. I love that everything was rhyming and just flowed toghether just perfectly. Great Write, Neve Let The Pen Drop...
--Darkkitty
-
great poem
great poem i espically loved the title!let me know when you have more poems posted thanx,
~amy~ -
This does take one back to where they came from, how they grew up and what shaped their lives. Does not see a very happy situation that you write about, families torn apart, never good enough comments from others; such a sad ending; full of such despair. Liked the rhythm and rhyme in these lines, the story you tell here.
-
"Finally, eviction - but his brother is near,
and he's sure he will save him, if not then he fears,
that never again will he leave this cold town,
just another mad poet buried deep in the ground."
Wow...that final stanza is a real kicker! I hope with all this poets been through that he's going somewhere a bit better than that
I love your use of rhyme in this piece ( especially the fact that you're not using what many would call perfect rhyme in a lot of the places ) but I found the third from final stanza to change up the rhyme scheme contained throughout the remainder of the poem. I also stumbled a few places on the meter which could be easily tightened up with the subtraction or substitution of a few words. Overall a good write that stays with the reader long after they've finished reading. Thanks for the entry and best of luck in the contest
Ruth
Adding your comment:
1 - 9 of 9
