An Original Poem: “The Troubles Within” —Mature Audiences Only

The Troubles Within

An original poem written by Jinapher J. Hoffman. All rights reserved to the author.

The storm cries. The smoke gags. The wind pins.

They swing about and never howl within.

They are loud and full of embraced torment.

They are not any quieter than an Earthquake, which breaks cement.

Humanity shuffles among this pavement;

Breathes the air that howls, fights the smoke that gags, and drives in wind that pins.

We buckle down our sorrow, strap our souls to our wrists, and hope cuts will destroy the sins.

But we never shout or howl or swing about like the elements do.

Instead, we fight quietly, hoping someone will know that knew.

And, it’s as if quiet is the loudest words.

It’s as if quiet can persuade away the absurd.

Don’t we know that a mind is a waiting field?

Battle, there will be,

But, blood…one should never see.

That being said,

I’ve still read

That death by the wrists

Is as common as death by our fists.

As is death by our peers,

Or death by our absolute fears,

Or even the noose

That wasn’t tied all that loose,

And then there’s the meds,

Which come with us to all of our death beds.

Is it planned?

These thoughts of terror?

Are they easy come, easy go?

If so, then why is one little girl or boy a “no show”?

Like a storm, the torment will come.

There’s more than one who will live without knowing the sun.

It’s like smoke will surface,

long tendrils choking and looking to purchase

A present for their dear friend, the wind,

Who pins smoke down, writes smoke’s story, and then, presses send.

Is humanity part of some evil joke?

Do we play with fire, wind, and smoke?

We do at times, and it seems so harmless,

We think nothing until there’s someone to be missed.

It’s not fun to be part of this “humanity”.

It’s not fun to be part of someone’s fake clarity.

And maybe I’m not, you’re not, we’re not…

But, someone else is definitely part of this plot.

And, I think the worst would be

To watch someone’s torment and see,

But not say anything at all,

Not even pick up a phone to make a Suicide Hotline call.

Humanity. This is what we are.

Sure, we’ve done great things, like invent the car,

But we’ve done this too,

and it’s not like we have no clue.

So, where is the fight?

The fight that will turn on a person’s darkened light.

The fight that will bring about a better day after one’s hundredth sleepless night.

The fight that will loosen the noose on one’s neck that has long been too tight.

It will not come difficult

To put a smile in a catapult

And send it a few doors down

To the girl, who wishes she could drown.

It will not come hard

To play the “good will” card

And help out a face you’ve never seen

To maybe make it finally gleam.

It is not tough

To take away some of the rough

From someone who may have been near;

Maybe even someone you might hold dear.

There is always a way

To find the right words to say

Or to hug someone and tell them, “It will be okay.”

However, it’s still a choice to make them stay.

We can stand by and watch death conquer us all,

Or we can run toward each other, hold hands, and embrace the fall.

We are not alone in this world,

Except sometimes when we’re in bed curled,

Our thoughts wondering among the abyss

and fearing that we might not even be missed.

That’s the problem: we would be missed.

We’d be missed and I bet someone would even make a big list

With all of these reasons why they wanted us to stay,

But, overlooked, would be the reasons death made us pay.

Life is precious.

It can constantly leave us breathless.

No matter how hard it will get,

We must remember, however, that it will mend and knit.

Together, so much death could end.

We just all need to remember that helping can no longer be pretend.

This poem was inspired by my encounter with many troubled people over the past few years. I will be doing a full analysis of the poem this Friday (April 24th, 2014) on my blog. During my analysis, I will also be answering ANONYMOUS questions. If anyone needs a friend, I will be here for you. Submit your troubles to “The Box” (listed under the Projects tab), and I’ll give out as much advice as I can. You can also tweet me (@The Writing_). I hope others will join me in helping out anyone who needs the help. Thank you for reading.

Always,

Jinapher J. Hoffman

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