The Tides of Despair …
Rough shards of tossed paper intrude in this halcyon dark
Down a dingy path upon the crude latticework, I rest
Withdrawn from society, my jeans torn with candor’s mark
I breathe deep the cancer smoke from a bartender’s chest
Believe… it raps in my skull, repetitive, hindering,
attacking my soul, I stare down a bottle, blithering
It’s grim, my time spent in dreamland while everyone works
Awakened by the electric hum of nearby lamplights
I once dreamed of mountain pastures, lakes, my dreams now hurt
Drinks poured for those who were encompassed by the night
Believe…like the potpourri of a smoldering fire,
Like my old man told me, son, believe not in a liar.
I stare into the gray above those scintillas of white
Gathering on the windowsill, the frost that pummels the glaze
I retrace my footfalls in the snowy path, at daylight
I resign back to my reclining chair clasping the blaze
Believe…that my old decanter of the finest whiskey
Will help finish off the evening at roughly fifty-fifty.
…So exile…the evening shapes, the tar worn tapestry of sight
Trapped within my many glooms, holding their daily summits
Mutinies that my nightmares impart, stage right my dreams abide,
with the closed curtain, everything sinks, my heartstrings plummet
Believe…this sepulcher of love once bore a tree with fruited boughs
Now, angry words burn my lips, tongue bites given, joy disavows.
Four bars like four walls, with three squares, I am an anchorite.
Entwined we lived with hope, then despair reared its ugly face
An empty pit that burns a void, a loss of appetite
The nighttime air laments as if its eyes were sprayed with mace
Believe… that the distance swallows all who pace and spell,
and into sadness I am bound, and forever there I may dwell
Torrents swallow everything, torments from this sinking ship
A hope, like a blazing lighthouse, into the distance
to where everything I love goes to disappear as quick
as a flame snuffed by despair, when two lovers are misfit.
Believe…in nothing when it comes to love, but despair…
It’s there, it’s always there in your head it rips and tears …it’s there…
For more works by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.
You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.