Patrick Burdick


Purged


Blame it on me I'll shoulder the weight dragged under your train your baggage my freight, try to play it cool staying under fire shots rung in the dark no rest for the tired, moments of weakness prove your inner strength, running the gauntlet no end to its length, trying to bleed it dry but continuously draw blood, crimson over the damned levy broken away in the flood, hurricane twisted shards raining down on the innocent, bow in the wind never breaking just getting bent, no exit sign lights to guide the lost, forever in debt not understanding the cost, ignorant wisdom irony at its best, still barely alive heart torn from the chest, condemned to roam through life shadowing reality, redeemed by the emptiness that has cleansed the forgotten me.

Submitted: Saturday, August 16, 2014

Topic of this poem: zen


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