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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

Death calls my name

Reaches out to pull me to his cold embrace

Fingers stretching, searching for a hold on my soul

Feelings gone awry, should I let him take hold?

What is really keeping me here

Shadows upon shadows, my loved ones who claim to know me

Death is a natural part of life

They would soon forget me

Who am I to tell death “No”

Just another depressed teenager to add to the pile

Another tally on society’s wall of failures

They all pretend to look, pretend to pay attention

Why should they really care if I’m gone

Not their problem that I can’t eat, I can’t sleep

Can’t seem to keep a hold on everyone else’s version of reality

Death calls to me

Posted

Resist the call, Death's illusions cease

All things pass, make the change

Impotence is society's lie

One person can make the difference

Before they die.

Acting out to meet needs within

Demanding those needs be met

Is another way to say depression my friend

You can do better yet.

If you can give without needing response

If you can turn inner eye to look out

The world's not such a bitter place after all

The gift of life don't flout.

 

Hugs

 

There are those at the Pen, at least, who'd miss your voice if stilled forever.

Posted

it is very hard to say what i was thinking when i wrote that poem last night... i seem to have blacked out. when i woke up again, i found the paper clutched in one hand, and a pencil in the other. it has my mom is a tizzy though.. not that i blame her.. -_-

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