A Look Poem by Chris Townsend

I don’t mind if things don’t work out,
For I stand before you a failed actor deep in a mire of doubt,
I don’t believe what my eyes tell me are true,
This image I hold close to my heart, cant be you,
This delicate prism a Technicolor dreams of cold,
This unpleasant face, this image of a stone placard to hold,
This weight on my shoulders this pain,
An attack to my sensibilities, this motion in vain,
This madness in a grey shadowed peace of a place,
I laugh, I scream, I cry on my own,
Is this the image that I want my children to call home?
A distant look a child wonders why,
This grown man, alone, left in a pool of tears to dry,
This stare this quiet, why does she look,
I need to find my own space, this cover needs closing on this book,
Cut into pieces this heart lays in tattered shower of a mess,
This quiet man, this cold face, a hidden, deep, discontented distress,
The cold trail makes the miles go by,
But still, bitter twisted, this cold man just cries,
On a hill in a state of mental health,
A rich man with nothing to show for all his wealth,
These wheels turn these people pale,
This heavy breathing machine, attacks the trail,
If there’s an end I don’t want to see,
This bitter twisted, encapsulated picture the you without me…