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Poetry 2
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Shattered
Pieces
Don't bother making promises,
You know you'll never keep.
Does your conscience ever haunt you?
Do
you find it hard to sleep?
The lies that spew so easily,
I've heard them all before.
To this day you still question,
Why
I walked out through that door.
They say the grass is greener,
But I know that's far from true.
My heart is now
a barren ground,
And for that I can thank you.
Hardships will make you stronger,
But that's not the case, I've
found.
All trees eventually topple,
And buildings crumble to the ground.
As I try to pick up pieces,
Of my
often shattered life,
I realize that the farce of love,
Hurts far worse than any knife.
© Debbie Wilk
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Death Of A
Dream
On a hilltop she stands,
Brisk wind in her hair.
Perplexed, uncertain, confused;
Lonely once
again.
In the distance, afar,
A promising mirage.
But no notice does she take.
Why should she bother?
With
eyes downcast,
She slowly walks away.
The mirage disappears.
Was it really even there?
She knows in her heart,
Happiness
is a mere myth.
A product concocted,
Solely from her dreams.
So now,
No longer does she dream.
© Debbie Wilk
Hidden
In the darkness,
I dare not close my eyes.
There is no point.
The images are burned,
Into my memory forever.
I
hear the echo of screams.
I smell the stench of death.
I feel the touch of hopelessness,
And I know that I am lost.
Perhaps
forever.
No, I have not just emerged,
From a war torn city.
I have not experienced,
My own near death experience.
Well,
maybe I have after all.
But not in the physical sense.
Only in my soul.
© Debbie Wilk
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Life Sentence
Close the door,
She whispers.
Let not the darkness in.
I oblige,
Knowing full well
It’s not
the night
She wants kept at bay.
The barrier is intended
To prevent something
Precious and intimate
From
escaping.
You see, it was stolen once
And bruised deeply
Beyond repair
Before being returned.
So yes, I oblige,
Engaging
the lock
And tossing the key.
I walk away.
Never to know her fate.
© Debbie Wilk
The Fault
Lies Within
Twist your rusty knife
Inside my dying heart.
Fuck the ragged wound,
With your vile tongue,
Until
I weep my last
Ounce of tainted blood.
What does it matter?
It’s not like I haven’t
Felt this
way before.
Resurrected from darkness,
I returned because of you,
Only to be trampled yet again.
I don’t
blame you.
The fault lies within,
My own stupid self.
© Debbie Wilk
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Self Pity
(Get Over It!)
Memories faded and distant
From the previous night
March through your head.
Your eyes
ache from the light.
The bottle sits empty
Yet no answers were found.
The sorrows still linger
That you tried
to drown.
So go wish on a star
That refuses to shine,
Or pray to a god
Who just doesn’t have time.
Chase
after a rainbow
That doesn’t appear,
Sooner or later
The fact will come clear.
There’s nothing
of value
Once you climb up that hill.
Life’s a deep, stagnant pond
That sits putrid, sits still.
Crawl back
in your bed,
Hide from your fears.
Go on you damn coward
You’re not needed here.
Every day seems so
hard;
No one else hurts like you.
It’s called life, don’t be self-centered.
It’s what we all journey
through.
Do what you must then
To get you through each new day.
Don’t ask for my opinion.
You won't listen
anyway.
© Debbie Wilk
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