A Jumbled Mess

If life is a book, it's a book finished too quickly.

The chapters lack numbers, and the sentences lack punctuation.
It's a jumbled mess of love & loss, fear & courage, pain & joy, and so much more but yet, so much less.

When the ending is upon you, there is no final shock.
No long lost love to return,
No dawning realization or resolution.

No awards will this book win, for only a few will ever hear your story.
And fewer still will understand the true meaning of it.

The Absence of Hope

"The absence of hope is the greatest despair." - Debra Forrest

The Loss of Hope

The loss of hope, is a life ending.
It's a bomb exploding.
The planes crashing,
And a martyr burning.

The loss of hope, is the sun setting: to never rise again.
It's the fish drowning,
And the sky falling.
It's the ocean roaring, and the lion purring.

The loss of hope, is the silent cry of Romeo.
It's the love of hate,
And the hate of love.
It's the betrayal of sun by rain.

The loss of hope, is the greatest despair.

The Idea of Love

I entered an online poetry contest about a month ago. I got a letter telling me that I'm a semi finalist for the grand prize and that I've been published in an upcoming poetry book! I thought I'd share the poem that is going to be put in the book with all of you.

The Idea of Love

He was in love with the idea of loving her.
But the idea of love, doesn't hug back.

She didn't know, he existed.

He watched her, fall in love with someone else.

He was heartbroken. He ran up the stairs,
Looking for a new love.

The new love was sharp and beautiful.

He began to make himself one with it.

The slow repetitions of his love, began to cut deep.

They found him on the bathroom floor -
with a bloody razor blade in his hand: His new love.

The razor blade gleamed,
as the last bit of his bloody love dripped off of it.

The Tree

All the things in life form a tree.

I climb in a mad frenzy,
to reach the top.

And I forget about the lower, thicker branches:
The support.

As I get higher, the support starts to decay.
The neglect and disresepct of the support, has taken its toll.

The tree starts to crumble,
Every step I take towards the top, the weaker the branches get; the lower bracnhes support less and less.

I fall.
What is there to catch me?

The lower branches, the trunk.
They'll always be waiting for me.

The Doors of Vienna

The Doors to Vienna

I'm running.
I'm running fast.

I'm trying to reach the open doors of Vienna,
I'm running to them.

Three minutes and I'll reach them,
Why am I running so fast?

What is so attractive about Vienna?
A minute ago it was so attractive, but as I draw closer I'm not so sure.

Is life bad enough to run willing into the open arms of death?
I'm not so sure anymore..

I run faster,
But in the opposite direction.

Those doors are not something I want,
I don't want to die.

I'm running as fast as I can from the galloping horse of death,
But, will I make it?

Bleeding On The Page

I have a teacher who told me to take all my pain and let it bleed out onto the page. So, here it goes. Remember, I've only ever written poems for English class, so don't judge too harshly on my first attempt.

Untitled by J. Campbell

Life is a dying Lie.
As we try to unravel the lie,
We find more lies: Love, Happiness, Joy.

The Lies of Life,
Lead to hiding places: Pain, Hurt, Sorrow.
And the ultimate escape of a coward: Death.

The coward, chooses Death.
The martyr, chooses the Lie.
Which is the brave one?

Suicide: Cowardice or Power?

Suicide and depression are tragic. And many people choose to dishonor the portrayers of suicide by calling them cowards. I think this is wrong. I do not believe that suicide is a cowardly act, but that it is a way to grasp what is yours and take your final chance and leave your mark on this world. In The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, Brutus commits suicide. He was a true martyr and died for Rome. People just love that. But when the depressed kid down the street, who gets abused by his parents and made fun of at school for his eccentric personality and clothing options, slits his wrists he gets called a coward. Why? Because people see what they want to see. And that is wrong.
Who gets to decide whether the death in question is an act of cowardice or of power? Of taking what final option given to us by Life and killing ourselves. When we get put on this earth we don't get to choose our environment and life. Life is no "Choose-Your-Own-Adventure" book. We get thrown into whatever, by whoever "creates us". This is where my faith in the Christian religion falters, why would a God who supposedly loves us put us in a situation where we get beat, raped, abused, made fun of, etc.? Suicide is sometimes the last option for a person. And, that's why suicide is an act of power, it's humans taking what final option they have and setting out on that new adventure called death.