Over the edge

I am who I am. I write poetry and paint really badly. Please be patient.

Let the shadows be lifted

So the eyes may see

What was once there

Has now disappeared.

It was never there

In the first place,

Your eyes let you see

The vision of something

That was long dead.

The light has become blinding,

After all that time in the dark.

I am but a bent and buckled pole

Among the straight, shiny ones.

It’s all over before it began,

The paths have grown closed.

What is my use now?

I have nothing! I am nothing!

I will never make a dent

Not will I scratch the surface.

All the roads are filled with rubble

Of spent dreams,

Collapsing within my grasp!

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