Poetry Of Despair


A Hero's Sorrow

by Steven F. Boettcher

 On a lonely hill I sat,
Watching the world move slowly by
Catching a glimpse of what the future holds
And not knowing the answer to why.

I looked down upon the Earth,
Seeing people walking around in a daze,
Living life as if it weren't there,
Caught in the rueful stare of Satan's gaze.

I lifted my sword to the heavens,
Holding it proud for all to see,
"For I am the savior, today,"
"Tomorrow, I'll just be me."

Down the hill I walked into
The shadowy valley of right and wrong,
to hack off the heads of evil doers
of mirth, merriment, and song.



by Steven F. Boettcher

A tint of blue is hinted in you
a slight variation, one must consider
if there is anything to do.

It is not like, though I suppose,
a change in your state
yet nothing I can propose.

The color doth suits you,
in rather an unfriendly way,
it makes you look sort of blue.

Try as I must, since I must try
to pin point the source of this
particlar hue that is not like I.

Now I come across to the other side,
there is no church that can
heal all the tears that you cried.

So dear friend, after studying this shade
I have to be honest with you
it’s not a charade.

It is for the best, that you are this hue
for if you were happy
then I couldn’t understand why you are blue.


Inner Sanctions

by Steven F. Boettcher

The art of my mind
in a way so real
something I can not find
or in any way feel.
What is it that makes me so blind
when my life is so surreal?

The thoughts of my passions
rise through my inner self
as if filled by gas stations
but full of energy from Tolkien's elf
Is it just me who is full of rations
That I must starve my self?

Oh, in the core of my being
a guide to the unknown
and all too far seeing a man
who knows what is not shown
Where is the source for all meaning
when all my life has been spent alone?




by Steven F. Boettcher

Down the chasm I climb,
descending into the pits below,
a demon on my shoulder
resting its weary death in my soul.

A cool wind blows from the cracks;
doom, fire and ice,
I sweat.

I can see the cool flames,
and the demon whispers my name.
"Hi Ho, Hi Ho."
"To Hell we go."

I lose my grip
and fall deeper into
the chasm of sub reality.

The jagged rocks
fall away as the walls
become steeper.

I try to cling to what's
left of my reality,
then everything turns black.




By Steven F. Boettcher

Loneliness is being alone in the world.
Where you are with billions of people
but have nothing to share.

Loneliness is the betrayal of love
to gain the sadness
that you deserve.

Loneliness is the coming together
of pain, sadness, and despair
in one perfect union.

Loneliness is the destruction
of love by your very hands
and living with it forever.

Loneliness is having love
and not being able to share it
because of lies.

Despair is having
no hope.


One Day
 by Steven F. Boettcher

The sky is a fire,
The smoke is a rising,
Filling the city sky.
The white flakes keep falling
From the black sky.
I see this in the morning,
Going to school,
But is it real?

The ceiling falls
The rooms smell
There are no real teachers
It is like Hell.

But life went on this one day.

The sky is a fire,
The smoke is a rising,
Filling the city's sky.
The white flakes a falling
People keep a calling
But nobody is there!

This all happened
One day.


This Night
by Steven F. Boettcher

This night wounds time
As the blood of innocents
Flows ever onward, slowly but
To never die:
Onward and ever,
A night like this lasts forever.

This night beckons hell
As the slaughter builds
An uneasy peace, yet
It seems an uncertainty
Onward and ever
A night like this lasts forever.

This night to the end of dawn
Awaken to tyranny's rule
And watch the concussion
That envelopes us all
Onward and upward
This night becomes this day.



One Does Not Have to be Alone to be Lonely
by Steven F. Boettcher

One does not have to be alone to be lonely
One does not have to be alone to be afraid
One does not have to starve to be hungry
One does not need to die to feel dead.

I'm all alone inside.
Nothing feels right.
Can there be a better place
Than at the brink of insanity?

I'm afraid of the dark,
Even in the light.
Where can I find
The end of the road?

One does not have to be alone to be lonely
One does not have to be alone to be afraid
One does not have to starve to be hungry
One does not need to die to feel dead.

I’m starving for attention,
Yet nobody sees.
Isn’t it obvious seeing me
Begging on my bleeding knees?

I feel discouraged,
Almost dead.
What am I to do
To end this dread?

One does not have to be alone to be lonely
(That’s true enough.) I’ve been alone with my friends.
One does not have to be alone to be afraid
(That’s true enough.) I’m afraid of living.
One does not have to starve to be hungry
(That’s true enough.) I hunger for respect.
One does not need to die to feel dead.
(That’s true enough.) I’m dead tired, right now.


by Steven F. Boettcher

I was so happy
Now I am so sad
Much like "Yesterday"
But only it was today.


I am Steven
by Steven F. Boettcher

I 'm bleeding, I'm in pain
I know that I'm insane
I lie and I cheat
I am full of deceit.
I am Steven
I am angry. I am sad
I am a horrible dad.
I kill and I destroy
I am nothing but a bad little boy.
I am Steven.
I'm not strong.  I am no hero.
I am a loser, nothing but a zero.
I yell and I hate
myself when ever I am late.
I am Steven.
I'm evil and am crying.
I wish I were dying.
I am the dead and I am Satan.
I am the destroyer, Steven.
I am Steven.



Empty Halls, Empty Walls

by Steven F. Boettcher

 Dark clouds, dark skies
my mind echoes with my cries.
Empty halls, empty walls,
nothing can stop my endless falls.
I don't know what this is all about
but all I want to do is shout.

Lonely water, lonely isles,
I can see no more friendly smiles.
Lifeless mounds, lifeless of any kind,
there are no more memories left in my mind.
I don't know if there are only lies
but why do I feel so empty when somebody dies?

I can't sleep anymore
It must be past four
My life is all out of focus
I feel my life is useless
I need to understand what is happening to me
So I can open my eyes and finally see.


That Which I Call...Confusion

by Steven F. Boettcher

What am I and who will I be
when I'm reborn into the endless sea
that is called life?

Was I a beggar, thief, or king
or a rodent, or bird, or hideous thing
that of which is flesh?

Will I progress or digress into new directions
or am I doomed to repeat past indiscretions
of my soul?

Have I made amends for my lost sin
in which I may have paid for from within
that which I call my breath?

Could I be so bold to say
that I was alive before my own birthday
and in this life I wasn't me
but all I can ask is "How could it be?"

Oh I know I don't remember
my future or anyway dismember
my past. But I do know
that I'm certain I can show
a correlation of my present being
to be unblind and all seeing
and in a way, a relationship
can be deduced, that is neither hip
or in any way meaningful to those near and far
when I say "Nowhere is where we are."


Where is the Father?

by Steven F. Boettcher

Where is the father
to guide you through the darkness
that surrounds your inner peace?

It is a contradiction of ideas
that one must make when
dealing with the father.

How is it that you in
your sanctuary can befall
to the monsters of human emotions?

Where is the father
to which you look to learn
through his endless teachings?

It is a valueless teaching
that one must hear
when the answer will never be known.

Why is it that you in
all your glory must
live with the rumblings of human behavior?

Where is the father
to help you through the darkest nights
that entrap your soul to earth?

It is the fruitless battles
that one must make when
fighting legions of father's death.

What is the use of the madness that occurs
to you, when you realize
that you are just human dust?



In The Pit I Fall

By Steven F. Boettcher

In the pit I fall
down depression's way
from the tuneless call
of the hunter's bray
to hellion hall
in the darkest gray.

I fall in my silence,
a reaper's shame,
there's nothing but violence
though not in name
I scream for silence
in this endless game.

An endless drop I fall so slow,
to the depths of my fearing,
in the words of Poe
"Deep into that darkness peering"
so far below,
I sense a deadly clearing.

In the plunge, I see the eyes
out of the Briar's Patch
a song bird cries,
"No one can catch
me with my wonderful lies
here in the claws of the devil's snatch."

"The devil made me do it!"
the song bird sings
endlessly, he can never quit.
So I call to those queer little things,
that the bird sang about in that most disturbed fit
that rings, and rings, and rings.

"What did the devil make you do?"
I ask as I fall in my grave
"Can it be just you
that lies in my grave?"
"Nay" said the bird who flew
me into that darken cave.

"Nay, Nay" the bird sang to me
"The darkness, the darkness
is the grave that you see,
for its the proximity to our nearness
that I lead you to be
the state of dying and lifelessness."



One Night
 by Steven F. Boettcher

Rumble. Rumble. Are you scared?
Sometimes, I would not have cared,
But today, it was different.

The rain came down
The lightning struck town
And the thunder echoed with a loud sound
Like a train passing by.

The rain fell like the temperature in the desert at night.
It was a strange sight,
My friend, I tell you
It was such a scary fright.

The roof sounded as if it had enough.
We were praying for help from above.
And then it happened.



The Betrayer
by Steven F. Boettcher

I betrayed my love today
for what reason, I can not say
though I am ashamed to
to God I will pray.

I betrayed my love for life
I cut her down with my knife
that destroyed everything so dear

Now our life is full of strife.

I betrayed my love with mistrust

for cheap thrills and lust
Like I put on a sign that read:
To Hell or Bust.

I betrayed my oath to me
and I drifted too far out to sea
though I found my way back
in the land of misery.

It is my fault, no one is to blame
I extinguished my happiness flame
as I search my mind
to hide my shame.

Yes, I am the betrayer
I am the destroyer
I regret, I realize,
I haven't a prayer.



by Steven F. Boettcher

I am a slug.
A blob without form
No shape
No soul.

I am destruction.
I am hatred.
A blot
On humanity.



The Heartless Man (A Hole)
by Steven F. Boettcher

I am the heartless man
the shallow man, the sad man.
I have no heart, no soul
there is no life left
inside, no drive,
no care, just an empty being
a shell, a form of nothingness,
a hole.

The beat you may hear
is not my heart, but a furnace,
clanking away forever and ever,
a raging fire, consuming,
eating away at the very core
of my being, till there is
nothing left but a burnt
out shell, nothing,
a hole.

I am the heartless man,
the defeated man, the one
who is out of control.
I have no will or desire
except to be hurt. There is
nothing left in me, nothing of
what I once was. You might say
just a hole.



The Point is Moot
by Steven F. Boettcher

The point is moot.
I'm just a mute.
It doesn't matter what I say
'Cause you ain't listening today.

I try to speak
But my voice is too weak.
It's just that I have no authority
I should deal with the reality.

So I cry instead
And think I'm better off dead
But I go on
And hope...