Looking back on my old journals, I happenned to find the one I kept throughout high school. The images of my youth flooded back the moment I opened the book. This poem was the first one I had written that my English teacher did not deem absolute rubbish.


Memories

A string of failed romances, opportunities wasted, and dreams lost have made my heart a dark abyss of depressed pessimism.
One so deep, that it could only be filled by the sheer magnitude of the tears I have cried and the ones I want to cry.
I can only take solace in my dreams and aspirations, the ones I have left at least. The desire to be something, to achieve something of intrinsic value keeps me going in this menagerie called life.

Life, the ultimate test.
One we were all meant to fail.
And fail it we shall.

One thing I know for sure though, success will be mine , but happiness cannot be.

Because the robins cannot sing while the ravens squawk.
And the ravens squawk only in the dark.
And it is dark at least once an hour everyday.

Squawk, O Songbirds of The Night, your screeching melody shakes the branches of the trees that have long died and wilted.




Words by Jack R. Schade
Read 530 times
Written on 2009-07-03 at 00:24

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