One Of Those Days Poem by Michael L.

this isnt pain
it doest bring the tears down like rain
this isnt shame
it doesnt flush heat into my face
this isnt rage
it doesnt pump magma through my veins
and its not confusion for i know my aims
but what this is is cold and glacial
what this is is ancient and fateful
my old acquaintance
stops by to make this
life of wakefulness
a living hell
but alls well enough, its purgatory
the story goes on even when im worried
loneliness will not best me
though it may wrench me
from myself these uncertain days
of smoke and haze
and ache and jaded opinions
i can overcome the minions
the spawn of my own emptiness
sprung from my abyssmal depths
children of my longings, sins and
impregnated whispers on the winds but
what this is is also empty
my aching soul longing for the whole
the other half to complete us
concealed from us by us but must it always be thus
am i to be as a tool for use by fools
or will i find love and
discover my beloved
or search in vain
until the end of my days
always in ache and always
taking smaller breaths until my death
until i rest amidst the depths
of existence
dead on the bed of fallen stars, or perhaps ill be as the phoenix