My Poetic Year Part 3

So here is the final poems that I have written this past year that I am wiling to share:

Compass? Or West?
I hear this voice inside my head,
Saying I need to leave this place.
It does more damage than good these days.
I need to start all over, a new name, a new goal.
Moving doesn't solve everything, but I've felt this way for a long time and I need to get out of this place.
Broaden my horizon, let the sun shine through again.
The dust has piled up on this place.
I can hardly see what it used to be, my heart, thats what.
My family should join me in my move, I need to know someone, otherwise I will be alone, and right where I am now.
I wish I could shut this off.
I had everything, but thats not what I wanted.
I wanted a challenge, something to be proud of, but look where it got me.
I wish I could turn back around and things were the same at age eight, and that smile lit up the world.
We were young and restless, but we had a dream, not knowing at the time that I would want to leave and that has become my dream.
So as I sit and ponder, should I head west?

What's Left of Me
My body is light, hair messed up, I look like I've been through hell.
Thats what's left of me.
A journey I took, lead me astray, now I'm looking to get back home. Where is that? Do I have enough strength to get there? Whats left of me?
The journey is long and painful, what else is new?
A journey that a man could be proud of, get me back together, put the pieces together.
I know who I was but I've lost who I am. Whats left of me?
As the gray sky lies overhead, it brings the feeling of cold, which chills my body.
There's not a lot of me to create heat, help, I need heat.
What's left of me? Bring the pieces together and solve this mess I've made.

So that is the final poem I wrote. Like I said they come from personal and witnessed experience, I like to place deeper meaning in all of my words. There is a story in all of these poems, most, happier than what they sound. I draw inspiration from everything around me, I look at the words written by the late Jim Morrison and  Kurt Cobain, who in their own right, were poets. I'm not looking for the fame that came to them, because neither ended well for both. Writing is a form of therapy, my thoughts on paper help relax me. I've always been able to write how I feel compared to actually speaking it out loud. Now you know. Hope you enjoyed them. Well so long to all, may your dreams come true.