PDA

View Full Version : Hyper Mania (We Are To Blame)- My 50th poem/song


Eliana
February 5th, 2006, 12:58 PM
Yep. 50. It's a pretty big number, I guess. Not compared to Emily Dickinson or anything, but I feel accomplished.
So I think I'll tell you a bit about the poem before I post it.
The name Hyper Mania was not actually intended for this song. I started writing a song called 'Hyper Mania' as I was experiencing a great deal of panic and anxiety, but I never finished it, so the idea was dead. I decided to somehow fit it in during writing this poem. Later on, as I was having trouble ending this poem I thought of a line, "we are to blame", hence becoming the second name for the poem.

Secondly, about the context: I began this poem at first with just a bunch of random phrases which were kind of violent, then it opened up into a poem (I was going through a major writers block for the past week). There was no context, until I realized I added something about soldiers into the poem. So a bit of this can be referred to the war in Iraq (Yes, I am opposed to it) and how America is seriously screwed.

I also need to credit No Use For A Name and Evanescence for inspiring me for 2 lines in which I put "Fields of Agony" and "Fields of Innocence".

Enjoy!

Hyper Mania

Break into oblivion, this eternal f***ing night.
Why keep control when we’re going to die?
I’ll just stay in my tourniquet, my blackened dream.
Away from this reality and its crimson streams.

Too late to wash the scars away;
The corpses charred and bodies sway
to the rhythm of the deadly bells;
Chiming, groaning from the depths of hell.
Redemption, a distant word filled with mockery and sorrow.
Futile dreams of a “better tomorrow”

We hide from ourselves, we lie to the world.
A hazy illusion, a truth obscured.
Obscured by the loss of our very lives.
In Fields of Agony, where the soldiers cry.
In Fields of Lost Innocence, where they all died.

Died, died with no name.
Nothing to carry to the edge of their graves.
Our boys came home, but no one cared.
Greeted with sunken weary stares.

They returned to darkness, a broken calamity.
A rush of sheer panic; a lack of all sanity.
The fire spreads, a plane shot down
An explosion shatters over blood-soaked ground.

It’s called Hyper Mania, and we are to blame.
Fueling the fire instead of dousing the flame.
It’s a bloody tragedy, and we are to blame
for killing a world that will never be the same.

What are we now?
What have we become?
A living nightmare, constantly on the run…

--Eliana Frim, 2/3/06

Sawyer
February 5th, 2006, 01:45 PM
Deep and meaningful... and congrats on 50 poems ^^