Never as Much.

Putting my fingers back to the keys
And my thoughts back to the page.
Never hurt so much.

Never as much as that time when I wrote you,
Tearing up, with shaking hands.
That time I had to tell you it would be alright,
When I had no right to think so.

Never as much as when I sat up all night
Hoping you were still alive,
Praying that you'd answer me.
Just give some sign of life.

Never as much as long empty nights,
Left alone to my own devices,
Becoming all I needed
To destroy myself.

Never as much as when I walked these streets,
Alone in a crowd of thousands.
The loneliest days of my life
Have been spent here among my peers.

Life is pain.
Poetry is pain.
Life is, moreso than that, mostly anticipation,
Of when pain fades to glory and we write no more sad songs.

Reviews

[Rachel DeHart]

Amazing. I love these lines
"Never as much as long empty nights,
Left alone to my own devices,
Becoming all I needed
To destroy myself.

Never as much as when I walked these streets,
Alone in a crowd of thousands.
The loneliest days of my life
Have been spent here among my peers."