Empty Handed Pain Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Empty Handed Pain



Airplanes fly low enough to hurt,
If I had a soul:
They trough right through the dirt,
They caracole the bitter fruits of
Childhood stains-
Wherever I am going I have you on the
Brain,
And not enough dirt to bury you,
Or to extol myself for the wounds I
Always seem to bring upon my soul,
If I had a soul
And not just empty handed pain.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kerry O'Connor 16 October 2009

Perfect in every way - not a word out of place. Beautiful work.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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