Normally I’m as verbose as a
German newspaper that dares
not use an infinitive more than
once in the same paragraph.
But I must repeat. I’m still
between heaven and hell.
Same stuff different week,
only worse. And I can’t speak.
This thought unnerved me so:
“I don’t know who I am so I don’t
know who I want to be.”
The mirror of my mind said it
again: “I don’t know who I want
to be so I don’t know who I am.”
[A week has passed. No change.
Another ten minutes have past.
Life for some of us is like a
null between two brackets; a
never ending walk on a taut
Which is more intense, the pain
or the numbness? [I forgot to
mention the chasm of hot coals
below the tightrope.]
A deafening sound, a snap if you
will, has occurred. I’m in a free
fall. The brackets are out of
bounds, out of touch.
They appear as circles on a
paper. I’m reminded of the hot
coals; suddenly aware that they
have always been there.
I live the drill. Wake up. Walk the
tightrope from bracket to bracket.
Don’t feel the burn. Try to sleep.
Wake up. Repeat for sixty years.
It has been a long night. I’ve
never seen the light of day; only
There is hope. Dawn will break
somewhere outside the brackets.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)