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Terrence Griffin II

Rookie - 64 Points (January 9th,1997 / Clayton, Missouri)

Scars


What's left for the heart, when the blood no longer flows?
What's left for the brain, when the knowledge no longer grows?
What's left for the hand, when there's nothing left to hold?
What's left for the soul, when the body turns cold?

What's left for the guitar when the strings cannot be plucked?
What's left for the gambler, when he's ran out of luck?
What's left for the eyes, when there's nothing left to see?
What's left of us, if we can never truly be?


What's left for the drinker, when his bottles have run dry?
What's left for the junkie, when he's coming off of his high?
What's left for the man, when it comes his time to die
What's left for that man.. when his soul heads for the sky?

What's left in the psyche, when everything's turned grey?
What's the use of tomorrow, its just another day.
What's the cause of these emotions, is this merely just a phase?
Or am I merely in a prison? Left to rot for the rest of my days?

What is left for MY heart, except for pain, and despair?
What is left for MY brain, when the connect isn't there?
What is left for MY hands, when they are covered in blood?
What is left for MY soul, when it no longer feels love?

I cannot play the guitar, all I know are love songs.
I cannot be a gambler, I'll keep going, even if its all gone.
What I see from my eyes, is merely my own reflection.
And there is no me and you, it was all, merely your deception.

So hand me another shot, rather a bottle, that I may hold.
Give me some more pills, until my body turns cold.
What is left for me? Is my place among the stars?
Until the day I know, all I'm left with, are scars.

Submitted: Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Edited: Thursday, September 11, 2014

Topic of this poem: depression


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