My last inspiration came from here,
And I wrote it down as I shed a tear,
Knowing that this may be my last,
And throwing everything into the past.
All the memories of what I’ve done,
All the thoughts of joy and fun,
Intermingled with the sadness and pain,
Washed away to swirl down the drain.
So here I am, a new man,
And I shall show you that I can,
To walk on the ashes of my words,
Listening to the sounds of the birds.
But I will always return to the pen,
Not always knowing how or when,
To follow the flow and ebb,
Drawn by the stings of the cobweb.
So here I am again, my soul on a sheet,
As I re-join others on the street,
On the road that leads to success,
And away from episodes of combat stress.
But how long will this circle last?
When I am free of hauntings from my past?
And accept the ghosts from the aftermath,
And lay them next to my wondering path.
Then I pick up my pen once again,
And wrote down my hidden pain,
And with the help of a simple rhyme,
This will not be my final time.
7 Apr 11