~ Lamenting Whine ~
I stand still on the edge of the highway express,
Thinking about all the moments I tried to suppress.
Sparks in the web of time lit up by emotions,
Thoughts gathered in vast grandiose proportions.
Yet, none feels as cold and merciless as the one I'm about to tell.
A simple fragment cut off from a long lost mourning bell.
It staggers at the tip of my tongue
Unable to jump out, suppressing the air till it stung
Why do I write?
Why can't I write faster?
Who is there to listen and who dares to call?
Is my suffering worth anything or am I just a fool who tries to stand tall?
So many questions I offer to this grandiose idealistic time
For so little as a few words spun within a rhyme.
So many answers I dare to seek out,
Not knowing how God and Life wish for them to play out.
This is the second verse of my lamenting whine,
A self attack from which I hope to break loose and shine.
I do not expect for others to listen.
I do not pray for pity to glisten.
I expect nothing, for all the more reason I expect it all.
I'm a human like you all, a child and a grandpa you can't wait to call,
A wandering corpse who forgot his reason and how to play ball,
A starving lunatic who can't sing about his chainsaw....
I'm both the beginning and the end
Of my imagination trapped in a spiral that won't bend.
I'm both the dog and the cat
Running around, chasing their tails, or maybe just a humble rat?
Maybe it's a sign of genius or an illusion,
A bomb stuck in a permanent state of diffusion.
Yet even here I risk to ask
Why do I write? Why do I sing?
For this endless task, what dream must I bring?
Here lies the third verse of this ghastly song,
A meaningless gleam of endless charm
Trapped in a chaotic world for so long
That it forgot what aids and what brings harm.
Here lies the last piece of my sanity.
I dropped the ball when I still had clarity!
Here lies the end of my domain.
Isn't there too much creation I tried to restrain?
Here sing the last of my birds.
They weigh on me countless untold words.
This is it, do you understand?
This mind of mine collapsed
There's nothing in there but a brain with a spasm!
It struggles for endless days,
Clinging to hope, a single chance displayed,
Dropping me in an endless chasm
Worth everything when nothing pays,
Reckless and lifeless like a failed abandoned play.
Now here comes the madness,
The crazy display of senseless sadness!
Look at it carefully if you want to see this pain.
Don't kid yourself, there's nothing to gain.
I have six stories screaming at me to be told,
Smiling like madmen at dark alley corners.
To handle the ink in my pen, I have to be bold!
And the words that spill to be those of explorers.
They say an artist has it easy when he snaps,
When that world of his turns upside down,
Crying tears of blood, his thoughts running in infinite laps,
Holding a self-destruct button, not knowing he's wearing the crown!
But in this endless sea of kings
There's nothing to hang on to, no one to blame...
You are yourself drifting alone. On the phone, only pain rings.
So, do you give in? Answering the call knowing you'll play the same game?
The artist is left between creation and innovation...
Give up on one and he becomes sane.
But sanity's outdated, sung by the old with no perception.
Written by cowards walking down on fame's lane...
So what do you do if you see all the glory
Ripped from you, left to rot, sent to hell?
So what do you do when you have six tales but no story?
And no matter how high you jump, you always fall down in the same well?
Nothing, you fall...
Now, hold on! I know this doesn't sound all too well,
But this is all just a rant,
A scream in words tossed at the morning bell
When I have nothing left but curses to grant.
Six stories? Don't kid yourself, that's a lie!
I have thirty or so tales waiting for me to let them soar up into the sky!
I have a pen and a mind that would make others cry.
Yeah, I'm in pain. Yeah, I lose my way, but my throat ain't dry!
I have a lot more to tell with this anger of mine
A lot of stories, ideas and desires ripped from cloud nine!
I am a dreamer but also a realist spying on the schemer.
I have the role of the insane dropped on the ground just to look lame.
But here's the catch, so listen well...
It's nothing but an illusion, you know, this fame.
It's a drop in an ocean leaving whales to sink you without a yell.
For the world around me sees nothing but a poor man,
A lost soul who disobeys and doesn't listen to the words I call hell.
I'm called a liar, a fake, a nobody compared to somebody
My work is garbage, or so they say,
A critic's laughter is what I hear when I hit play.
But let me tell you something, maybe this time you'll learn?
I stand here listening to the Rap God busting a rhyme
Because these words of mine are nothing but a simple Whine.
So is this where I stand?
Where I lose the moment and regain myself?
Is this where my mind stops thinking of great and releases its hate?
Where I begin to be afraid again and turn into a monster
Who can't see right from left and has nothing to master?
Is this where I collapse and realize it's already too late?
Don't kid yourself. That is the lie!
In this whole cemetery, you won't find a place for me to lie.
I'm immortal inside, that I know, but maybe you don't?
I fell to the ground more times than I can count,
Each chapter I lose my mind, dropping in mud
But don't think I'm here to flaunt!
No, I'm showing you the spots where I spilled my blood,
For no matter how many times I'm shot or cut
There's no way for me to stay down for long.
I'm not the sort who would lay down after a thud.
I'm a phoenix, I'll fly back to where I belong!
Burn me to death, I'll just revive.
Turn me to ash, I'll be reborn.
Tie up the noose, I'll give Death a High Five.
Drop me off the cliff, I'll just fly off with these wings I adorn.
You catch my riff, now?
It's simple, take a bow.
Now this here's the final verse,
The last words of this lamenting cry
Turned from ashes to gold, not the reverse.
So don't think my ink ran dry!
In this desperation and struggle between quality and quantity
I find myself dressing up like a madman paying with honesty.
Now this is madness regardless of what I want to say.
Too many stories? To many words to say? Fans to obey?
Drop that. It's not a tale worth telling,
Those are just wishes screaming in my underground dwelling.
What you want to know is how I'll rise up to the top!
Hold my beer! I'll need a mop.
'Cause I'mma gonna take a swing at the bling, dancing on Death's ring!
You want to hear how I'll end sanity with depravity or maybe a gin tonic, you getting me?
It's not about the rhymes or lines or sugar coated cannibalistic mimes.
It's all about recovering, managing, surprising the mob, flaring it!
Maybe it's all about how I bust this rhyme.
What? Too soon? Go eat a slime!
I had enough of this! Yeah, I'll fall again
Broken wings, tears of blood, nothing to gain.
But this is my struggle, so stand down and chill
You look a bit pale, maybe you should take a pill?
For me it's a game, one with numerous delays,
But it has a good graphic and countless replays!
I hear people calling themselves a king, an emperor.
Did their narcissistic, nihilistic mind just made an error?
How can there be two Kings when one is enough?
Literature king? Don't kid yourself, that's not enough!
For me, at least, 'cause I want more
Not for my glory or the fame I wore
But for my readers who wish I enrich their lives
With words of encouragement, solutions, not lies!
For you see, a King sits on a throne and smirks all day,
Hold on now, wrong King. Towards him, I have nothing to say.
The one I'm talking about has yet to be given a name
Or maybe he'll self-proclaim himself one day?
Well, listen here, I'll try not to sound lame.
If you are the king, then the rest of us are what?
Loyal subjects that need to obey?
Don't steal an idea, inspire yourself and let others play!
But if there's a Rap God out there, you know it
Busting a rhyme, showing us the path, just follow it.
Then why can't I do the same?
Proving you all, but more so to myself
That I can stand tall, writing all day long!
That no mater the pain or gain
I'll keep on throwing down words, captivating the audience
I'm loving it!
Not stopping when I feel pain or when I'm under the rain.
Showing that no matter how tough life is for me
God gave me a purpose, a reason to be free!
So I'll take it! I'll grab it with all my might
And swing it down to these blank pages of mine
For it's not a sin to dream of an ideal
It's not a crime to show all how much you can shine!
It's how the world is meant to be for you to feel real.
So stop it with that senseless whine!
Stop bawling at the wall!
Now's the time. The rapture you all wanted to call!
Give me a moment, I'm about to end this rhyme,
For in the words of the master who proved to all he's more than a fad
Why be a Literature King... when I can be... a God?
Note from the author: Thank you for reading this poem. I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish, you can let me know what you thought about it in the comments below! 🙂
This poem was written in a moment of high stress which triggered a depression attack. It was my way of letting out all of those emotions and getting myself back up on my feet. Any form of creation is a good outlet for one's emotional baggage.
For those who didn't understand the last line, I am NOT proclaiming myself to be a god. I am simply stating that having the impossible as the point you wish to achieve can help you grow more and overcome your own limits. For some reason, people forgot that our world was built upon ideals turned into reality by those who wished to be free of their own calamity.
Do you want to read more of my work?
Try one of my books!
Stories written based on the lore of a game, and you don't need to have played the game to enjoy it!
I am grateful for any and all of your support! Thank you!