Life's taught me more than school has.
As a child, they taught me the basics,
Like 2+2 and "To be or not be?",
But never the advanced material
Such as the key to being happy?

Now as an adult,
Having taken a leave from school
And being forced to organize my own thoughts,
I realize that knowing the truth is only as good
As your ability to interpret it.
So all those years spent in government issue rooms
Learning government issue truths
Only taught me to see the world through a government issue lens.
But since the truth is now mine,
So is the spark of freedom from within.

The winged beast circle about.
More for presence.  
For pity.
There is no sport in prey that serves itself.
Yet draw blood regardless.
Taking small morsels of flesh with every pass.
And still no restistance.
As if dying slowly was a feat to cherish.
But isn't resilience a defining trait.
The Heros of every story.
Willingly go in search of new ways to destroy the body and mind.
Their deaths are held sacred.
Glory bestowed upon any who would courageously reduce to ash.
From the hellfires surging within a dragons innards.
At what point.
Does suicide.
Become heroism.
The tools are the same.
Fear.
Blades.
Resounding mental capacity.  
Resolve even.
the words and actions may differ every now and then.
But one fact remains.
Blood is blood.
One persons valiant deed.
May just as well be anothers.
Horror.

I once had something.
Kept it safe.
Removed from all that would blemish its pristine shell.
The thought of leaving it unprotected.
Left a acidic taste in my mouth.
Bile would creep up to remind me every so often.
The world I knew..
Or rather.
Perceived.
Was one that required a set of rules.
Not bound by law.
or religion.
But a game.
They all spoke of the hand that we are dealt.
As if they themselves hadnt already folded.
Watching others cast the die.
Only to come up with snake eyes.
Black and cold.
lifeless.
Yet that never deterred others from chasing that ***.
The so called prize that was dangling just above their shackled hands.
Foaming at the mouth.
Gasping.
For anything more.
Stepping.
On everything else.
Damaging.
Whatever was left.
So I took a different way.
Ripped away what was directly at the center.
Leaving a cold.
Devouring.
Wraith of a person.
One that knew how to emulate.
Observe and analyze.
Creating a persona for any situation imaginable.
Thus keeping this already fractured mind from crumbling further.

Time has come and gone.
Events transpired that left me..
Wondering.
A steady stream of little metaphoric punches to the gut.
Until finally.
Life gave me something.
I never could imagine it before.
The world could never describe it.
Even now.
With it inside me.
Replacing that very void I fed for so long.
This surreal oddity.
Courses.
Caresses.
Cascades down into the depths that I myself created
Rampant these so called emotions.
And at times I can barely seem to find the person I was.
Before.
But I decided to leave the past there.
Take up this new life.
Along with any challenge that comes.
For I have destroyed much.
So now.
I must build.

The wisest of men adhere to but one policy:
That a word once spoken, is a word that shall long be echoed.
And that,silence, if made one's only legacy,
Would imbibe in them, more than just the ineffable ethos.

-The Silent Poet