I used to be consumed,
full of bitterness and rage,
because they seemed such fitting parts,
to play upon this stage.

I blamed you for so many things,
in life that had gone wrong.
As if I was not responsible,
for my actions all along.

And though I have to take the blame,
for the mistakes that I made.
My refusal to just let things go,
cast a very ugly shade.

The pain and disappointment,
followed me where ere I roamed.
But these demons were not exorcised,
and misery became my home.

I was trapped within the anger,
that I let the whole world see,
until the day that I forgave you,
only then was I set free.

I can't believe you looked me in the eyes,
while you ****** me in with promises and lies.
Told me stories, never true,
about the things that made you you.
And all the while you crafted your disguise.

Just what was it made me **** an easy mark?
Was it personal for you or just a lark?
You played it very cool,
while making me the perfect fool.
You're a ***** who's bite is way worse than her bark.

But you know what, now its over I ain't sad
You'll see revenge it tastes so sweet I'm almost glad
See I've been driven by a cause
and thats to see that you get yours
And if you don't like the taste, too ******' bad!

Take me to where the eagles nest,
where the salmon come to spawn.
That I may see the wilderness,
and sleep from dusk til dawn.

Where the moon and stars and fireflies,
become my guiding lights.
And natures sounds, not traffic,
are the soundtrack of the night.

Where crickets, frogs and critters,
are the chorus to my day.
And honking horns and sirens,
seem like a lifetime away.

Let me bask in natures majesty,
drink from her rivers and her lakes.
Become a man thats giving back,
and not one that only takes.

Is our path laid out before us,
or is it something that we choose?
Are we guaranteed a victory,
is success just ours to lose?

How much free will do we have,
if any after all,
it seems when things are on the up,
that is when we fall.

Is that the way its meant to be?
A life of ups and downs,
ever shifting waters,
in which we're doomed to drown?

Or do the choices that we make,
determine how life goes?
I'd like to think this is the case,
but who amongst us knows?

Are we books upon the same shelf
at this stage of our lives
slightly worn and dogeared
by our ex husbands and wives

Or could we be a little closer
different pages, same book
after all we've lots in common
and not just our outlook

But perhaps we're even closer
maybe words on the same page
Although written many years apart
by a wise and noble sage

And as time it marches onward
and we get to know each other better
it turns out that we're both a part
of exactly the same letter

Which I guess is something we both knew
way back there at the start
when we saw the world in each others eyes
and loved each others hearts

I walk along beside you
each and every day
watching over what you do
listening out for what you say

Advice I try to give it
and yet it goes unheard
It's like I speak but you wont listen
not even to a single word

It's probably the same
for all parents just like me
it's hard to make children listen
it's hard to make them see

It hurts to know you cry at night
as you go off to sleep
to hear my daughter sobbing
to see the tears she weeps

If only you could talk to me
I could help I'm sure you'd find
But instead the words always the same
"Hey Dad, oh, never mind"

But now as you sit in the churchyard
I hear you ask me why
but no more words can you get out
before you start to cry

Why is it I'm so useless
as you sit here all alone
and shed tears at the graveside of...
just who's name is on the stone!

Oh my god it cant be true
please say it isn't so
Is the why that you were asking me
why I had to go?

Do tragic poems fill a selfish need
a desire to show others how we bleed
By showing that we're weak
is it martyrdom we seek
Do tragic poems fill a selfish need

Do poems of lost love serve a purpose
to remind of the past that deeply hurt us
Wearing hearts upon our sleeves
so publicly we grieve
Do poems of lost love serve a purpose

And what about the poems we don't write
of the things that really keep us up at night
About the pain that is too real
when we can't express just how we feel
The poets undisclosed internal fight