The Dark Side of My Mind

From time to time I slip into a dark place.

Events around me force out deep emotions, and feelings are stirred. Feelings that I did not know existed… Deep dark pain.

I wrote this poem during one of my those dark periods. I was trying to wrap my mind around the idiopathic gnashing from those who, looking in from afar, decided the fallen deserved public ridicule. They did not know him, only of him. Yet, they acted as if it were their duty to berate his memory, slander his name, taunt his soul. Knowing he would never be able to rise and silence the lies.

Taunting the Soul

Whence do they come,

These cold sneering taunts

Laughing and chiding

The body lying lifeless

In the pool of blood? 

Shrugging off the spirit

Unseen to the crowd

Which hovers uncertain

In the din of the night. 

Was he an offender

Deserving of shame?

Trampling innocents,

Gnashing the crippled

Who lay helpless

All alone? 

There lies the body.

Do they not see the soul?  

The mocking voices

Circling, hurling vulgarities. 

Can they not see? 

He was a father,

a son,

a friend. 

They cannot feel his parent’s screams

Wrenching the breath from their deep beating hearts… 

Begging God to let him live,

To ease the aching… 


One more day… 

Whence do they come

Can they not feel the pain?

Bear with me if you can… I fear I am slipping back to the dark side.

7 Responses to “The Dark Side of My Mind”

  1. moonbeammcqueen Says:

    This is an incredible poem. I’m not saying that lightly.

    How quick people are to do exactly what you’ve described.

  2. Red Says:

    Yikes. . shivers.
    Amazing stuff you got there, Woman.

  3. betme Says:

    Thanks. It came about because of total frustration.

  4. joanharvest Says:

    I could never write poetry like that. Good Work. We all know about those dark places. When my son’s ex-girlfriend overdosed from heroin last September, many of the people writing on the forums on the local newspaper website trashed her. Some said she was better off dead, one less addict, one less drain on our taxes. I went crazy. She was a poor sad girl who needed help and never got it. That poem reminds me of her.

  5. betme Says:

    Thank you Joan. This man also had a checkered past. But, he was rising above it. He had a good job and was starting a new family. Life looked good for him when he was murdered. Yet the people on the outside could only dredge up his past and assume he deserved what he got.

    It is easy to be spiteful when one refuses to look deep into a person. Maybe their stabs make them feel better about their own mishaps.

  6. SK Says:


  7. betme Says:

    SK ~ This is where I was when I was pushing everyone away from me…

    Damn, sums it up nicely.

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