Abyss of Despair
Photo by JESSICA TICOZZELLI
Born in a place where hatred resides,
Wherein no one couldn't pick sides.
Love and care is unknown,
Manners and respect aren't shown.
Then, hatred were inherited,
To the gremlins' head that's agitated,
To the angels' wings that's faded,
Well, now, who can honor a good will, that's left dead?
No stars would shine,
Nor the meteors' wishes wouldn't whine;
For the sun and moon forever colliding,
To eternity, it vowed to never confiding.
Now, the skies cry to the absence of light.
Not even a reflection were beaming,
For the darkness that were spreading.
Now, I pray, "Please, let there be light ".
Yet, did I say it loud enough?
It seems like there's a wall so tough.
On top of it, where the silence is defeaning,
Though out loud, their lungs were screaming.
A home which hope can't be found,
A shelter which love can't be catered,
Yet, I'm biologically bound,
To be that someone whom will be forcefully be altered.
Are they blind or maybe deaf?
Or my presence can't reach the extent
Of their expectations to this new leaf,
Coercively sprouting from a dent.
At the day of the New Year of 2022, I've written this while sitting at the top of a tree in my home. I was devastated by the situation; it's just never change but I could never get used to it. My father is drunkard and nothing good will come out of his mouth every time he is drunk, and he is too, an obnoxious one. Times like that should be joyous but ours were like hell. I was torn in between going back to city to escape the situation and staying for the sake of my child. In the end, I stayed bottling it all up within me. When I couldn't take it any longer, I searched for a safe and peaceful place; hence, this tree, and wrote a poem.
Actually, I'm on a hiatus in writing literature for years now. But I always find it easy every time I was in my lowest, and times like that for example. After consecutively writing 7 stanzas, I was relieved and forgot how to end that poem. I haven't even been able to choose for a title if not for a friend's suggestion. The truth is, my drive for literature writing always comes from my depressing moments, but I can't go on like that for all my life, right? I can't make any progress in that state, and my self-development will be stagnant, surely, I'll also couldn't function well again in my daily life.
These days I've always wanted to write poetry and short stories like I used to be before, but in a normal mood. Things are getting better with me and my family now, so I wanted to write something out of my usual depressing theme. However, it is very hard and a struggle for sure. I can only stare at a blank page of my screen if I try. I have published some entries at The Ink Well and one entry at Scholar and Scribe communities since last year and have written this first poem from years of hiatus. Yet I know, it wasn't the best of me, I can do better if I practice and do more exercises. I'm just trying to find something that could inspire me well.
As I was rummaging my drafts a while ago, I have found this poem. This maybe the start for me to indulge myself once again to niche and passion where I used to love. Lit the embers that turns eventually cold in the fireplace once again, and maybe I can see the path where it used to be an escape for me in this dreadful endeavors in life.