Broken Heart

1998 was a busy and difficult year that had a fair amount of things “looking up” for me. I had my son living with me, the custody case appeared to be going well (little did I know how that would change), I’d become close to someone…so I’m at a bit of a loss to explain this poem. It could be that I was having regrets about the train wreck that was the relationship with my son’s mother, but I sort of doubt it because the truth is that I never really cared for her to begin with

I’d be lying if I said I could remember exactly what this was about. 1998 was a busy and difficult year that had a fair amount of things “looking up” for me. I had my son living with me, the custody case appeared to be going well (little did I know how that would change), I’d become close to someone…so I’m at a bit of a loss to explain this poem. It could be that I was having regrets about the train wreck that was the relationship with my son’s mother, but I sort of doubt it because the truth is that I never really cared for her to begin with (I know, it’s pretty sad). I’d had a fair handful of brief “relationships” with women who were enamored by the thought of a single dad, but to be honest I can’t remember a single one of their names, so I’m again drawing a blank.

Oh well. It seems sincere, at any rate, so there must have been some level of genuine pain going on at the time. I just wish I knew what it was! At least…I think I wish I knew…

Broken Heart

There’s a broken heart within these walls

A melancholy soul

A spirit walks these empty halls

Alone and unwhole

Teardrops paint the skin beneath my eyes

A sullen memory within

The past which covers up the present’s lies

A tender lover lost to my sin

A heart, which beats now in chains

Passion’s flames are flickering dim

Memories of love once lost in vain

And chances for Salvation, slim

The wind which whispers gently through the trees

O’er the river winding gently by

Finds me mournful, on my knees

My broken heart has come to die

Face the past, own the pain

No absolution comes within

The blood of true love on my hands’ a stain

And I accede to darkness creeping in.

9-6-1998

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Sally Forth (Not the comic)

The foundations of Poetic Hell have been established and its first original piece posted. We’ve cobbled together the basics of “About” and we’ve said our first words of Dedication, and the sad business of saying goodbye to a great man has been concluded, though neither it nor he will never be forgotten. It’s now time to march forward, and this means, of course, that now we actually have to start posting the terrible poetry from our youth. If nothing else, it’ll be an entertaining lesson in what not to do, right?

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What a man should believe

This is for my Grampa, John Vernon Ward. He passed away unexpectedly on May 13th, 2009. I’ll always regret the time I missed with him, but I’ll be eternally grateful for the example he was to me of what a man can and should be. He touched more lives than I can even imagine possible, and he’s always been my best example and inspiration among my family. I love you, Grampa. You’re my hero, and you always were.

This is for my Grampa, John Vernon Ward. He passed away unexpectedly on May 13th, 2009. I’ll always regret the time I missed with him, but I’ll be eternally grateful for the example he was to me of what a man can and should be. He touched more lives than I can even imagine possible, and he’s always been my best example and inspiration among my family. I love you, Grampa. You’re my hero, and you always were.

What A Man Should Believe

What a man should believe
You taught me by your way
How you lived and carried on
Through each and every day

You taught me to believe
That people are usually good
And reaching out in friendship
Is the way I always should

You showed in all your action
That virtue and honor define a man
And you carried them as your character
In ways you taught me to understand

You showed me how your courage
Was at the forefront of your creed
And I’m inspired by the way you faced
Every adversity and need

But amongst these many virtues
One stands so far above
And I will never, ever forget
The warmth and power of your love

I’ll always love you, Grampa
The best parts of me came from you
You taught me everything worth believing
And every word, I know, is true.

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Welcome to Hell

Poetic Hell, to be specific. The point of this site, as you’ll soon discover, is to showcase poetry that is hellishly bad. Well, pretty much, at least insofar as my poetry goes.

Nevertheless, the poetry that will appear on this site, no matter how bad, was written with heartfelt sincerity and passion at the time. I can’t promise to always remember why it was written or for whom, but I’ll do what I can.

For the most part we’ll present older poetry from the angsty teenage years (hence the poor quality), but periodically something new may appear. Here’s to that thought.

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