Eulogy for a poet

When I was young I wrote poems that brought smiles
Mere words, unpolished, cathartic and sincere
They filled a yellow college ruled notebook I hid under my bed
Poems to girls, too insecure enough to be sent
Cherished feelings only I could know
Eight line verses that made me smile
Notes in pentameter that caused my heart to beat faster
Sentiments of an insecure boy unaware of his place in life
Scribbles of beliefs he felt no one else could fathom

Life's new phases unearthed a sneering teenage boy, cynical and empty
Rhyming words seemed childish and foolish
The poet inside me died a lonely death each night
No one was let in to watch it leave
The worn notebook moved from under that mattress
Now folded in a cigar box in a cluttered dim attic, left to rot
Those sad and beautiful words engulfed in darkness
Forgotten like a special note in a birthday card

The words I now wrote became emotionless and ominous
Words became distorted idioms void of beauty and purity
Replaced by hate filled essays of bitterness, uncomfortable to read
Nothing rhymed and nothing forced a smile
Finding solace in the sinister came natural and easy
I took refuge in this darkness, content with intrinsic disgust
Reading into this dejection made friends and family worrisome
On dark nights I penned them in melancholic moods
Scotch and cigarette, hands that furiously typed
Read in a silent voice cracking from silent tears
Bleeding black ink to college ruled paper

Sometimes I want to become the poet that young boy once was
I will dust off that box in the attic
I will unfold those writings filled with the breath of life
I will inhale those words and I will pen something beautiful again
I wish to create verses that make people get goosebumps
Like my favorite poets do for me
As the seasons change and maybe poets are re-born
But until the passage of these dark days
There will be hidden threats and undertones of self abhorrence
There will be still blood on yellow college-ruled paper