Seldom does one write an emotional poem
Not relating to death and depression
Nor the dark demons caged within...
A shard of the dark side of the soul
Can be found buried within
The depths of each poem carved onto the page
With the ink of the beating heart...
And maybe that reminds those of us
Who live and bleed between the words spilled
That only in the suffering
Can we truly begin to understand
And only in the understanding
Can we truly begin to live...
Because we live
Only to spill these words
So that others may have a chance
At the second life that blooms
From all the heartache...
All only so
The world can be seen
In the different lights
The aching words promise