The longest war, and the toughest battle you wage is that against yourself.
looking at the precious light through the eternal portal
only in my dreams does it exist, the air, the warmth, the bliss
now I lay here, the darkness closing in, the room grows a little smaller each day
how I wish I could walk again, the feeling of walking again
My constant fear, there is the break
The endless task of correcting flaws, there is the shatter
The self rejection and deprivation of a moments peace, there lies the cause to lose it, to give it up
Even though conclusions continuously remain positive and everything is always all smiles
My hands are brass, my will is noble, my cause is pure
live by the sword, die by the shield
I close my eyes, tell myself it will be over, I want the burn to heal
But as I do it rages on, to drunken me, leaves me feeling nothing
no hope of sobering myself, when will it come?
That lightening clap, that spark of empowering enthusiasm
When I truly realize that I will believe and achieve, not be worried about the opinions and produce for myself, puppeteering is an art, not a curse
But right now I fight the lunacy, the crippling lunacy
I pride myself in what I do, but what is pride with doubt?
One of these days i'll get the mobility back, and use it to move onward to self respect
Poetry by Zack Wellington
Read 528 times
Written on 2010-01-26 at 04:03
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It's Out There
laying downlooking at the precious light through the eternal portal
only in my dreams does it exist, the air, the warmth, the bliss
now I lay here, the darkness closing in, the room grows a little smaller each day
how I wish I could walk again, the feeling of walking again
My constant fear, there is the break
The endless task of correcting flaws, there is the shatter
The self rejection and deprivation of a moments peace, there lies the cause to lose it, to give it up
Even though conclusions continuously remain positive and everything is always all smiles
My hands are brass, my will is noble, my cause is pure
live by the sword, die by the shield
I close my eyes, tell myself it will be over, I want the burn to heal
But as I do it rages on, to drunken me, leaves me feeling nothing
no hope of sobering myself, when will it come?
That lightening clap, that spark of empowering enthusiasm
When I truly realize that I will believe and achieve, not be worried about the opinions and produce for myself, puppeteering is an art, not a curse
But right now I fight the lunacy, the crippling lunacy
I pride myself in what I do, but what is pride with doubt?
One of these days i'll get the mobility back, and use it to move onward to self respect
Poetry by Zack Wellington
Read 528 times
Written on 2010-01-26 at 04:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
