I stared, longingly, into a vast abyss, feeling perfect bliss, yet something was amiss.
Impaired, a song in me did unfold, from memories that scold, scars that were old.
So old! Still they hurt like a reply too curt from a lover’s mouth, an insult too cruel to assert.
A phantom bold will fray the edge of a mind on the ledge, split on each side of a wedge.
I fell—
and there!—
was no one,
to catch me.
The only way:
down.
The long way,
which I knew
all too well
would be
my last glimpse
of Heaven
Before
I conquered
Hell.
About the Creator
C. Rommial Butler
C. Rommial Butler is a writer, musician and philosopher from Indianapolis, IN. His works can be found online through multiple streaming services and booksellers.
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Comments (7)
I felt the ''BAM" when I read the last word. Remember those old cartoons when a bad character would fall and hit the ground.
Memories that scold, I feel that was sooo brilliant! Loved your poem!
This stings with personal hurt, Rommi. I felt the aloneness in the pit of my gut. Perhaps that is where both Hell and Heaven reside. Beautifully penned!
“ A phantom bold will fray the edge of a mind on the ledge” A powerful memory of a dark place can erode the most robust of dispositions. I sat with this a while, and saw you clearly. Well wrought, dear friend.
Beautiful and sad. So much melancholy. A sense of despair, agony. "There was no one to catch me." The feeling.
Hugs, Charles <3 Such a sad, lonely poem.
I fell and there was no one to catch me. Oof, my heart