Eleventh Hour Poem by Drew Engman

I'll always miss those magic moments
Stolen in my misspent youth
Nights of almost holy torment
Spent believing lies for truth.

Left in disillusioned ruins
To be played out on guitar
Songs as old as fallen angels
Coming down like shooting stars.

Landing hard on my naive heart
I just assumed my pain was part
Of how I'd have to live my life now
Like a ghost that won't depart.

But in the bright stage lights and barrooms
Turned up loud and stoned as hell
I tried to sing and play my soul out
As if more poison makes you well.

So many years of fog and feedback
Hidden in a mushroom cloud
Lost and left in desolation
To the cheering of the crowd.

Until one day it was over
And I limped away, undone
By all the years of self-indulgence
That I used to think was fun.

Now what's left of me recovers
What I can of all the days
Left to count the cost of choices
And debts I can't repay.

I've learned most things the hard way
Slowly earned back self-respect, for
Once the Grace of God's accepted
What He will, He'll resurrect -

...Now I can live with that.