The Artist’s Tears

I'm a poet with a dried up pen.
A picture taker with a broken lens.
An actor with no lines to say.
An artist from another day.

I've lived a life not my own.
A reincarnated poet from a time unknown.
My body home to many artists souls
Still trying to be born.

I need to draw, I need to write.
Too many thoughts cloud my light.
Mere focus is not mine tonight,
No one artist can find the light.

Those nights to years
And decades passed.
The artist's tears
come home at last.

Why God? Seriously... WTF?

I came into this world with an old, worn out soul
that was paired with a battle scarred heart.
I didn't know who you were back then
but I sensed you had my back, from the start.

I was pushed around.
Bounced around.
Pounded around.
Only you held me. You were my ground.

So many times, throughout my five decades,
I look at events and see your grace at work.
But this last decade, I can't feel you anymore.
What the fuck God? You can be such a jerk.

Why save me, watch over me, all those years
only to abandon me in the end.
Is it that I've served your purpose?
Am I of no use to you anymore?
I feel betrayed. I thought you were my friend.

I Try to Pray

My burdens are so heavy.
There are moments I can't cope.
I try to pray, I try to believe.
I try to reach for promised Hope.

Then I hear of others,
Who's burdens bring me shame.
That I should pray for some relief
from a life others see as gain.

Sentiments

Driving, driving, driving.
The wheels go 'round and 'round.
It's a life I'm barely surviving.
Soon I'll be underground.

I smile nice.
A warm handshake.
To hollow eyes.
Sentiments fake.