A poet writes
of the yellow brick Road to the Wizard of Oz
I’m grasping at straws

Poetry of substance Worthy of a cause

I’m Grasping at straws
I read poetry without flaws

I’m grasping at straws
Poetry so deep in content, I am in awe

I’m grasping at straws
Poetry so reflective I have to take a pause

Yet still I’m grasping at straws

This is more than writer’s block
My Acadian clock stopped

My brother passed away
I can’t find anything to say
Can’t breathe I cry and pray

Words betray my heart
Numb my brother and I apart

My Tears will stop life will be OK
I hope today would be a better day

I read poetry to fill the hole
Until grief, depression loss lets me go
Living moment, by moment is all I know

A rebel without a cause
I’m grasping at straws

Inspired song

Take this pain
By Jake Banfield 2022

I’ve realized that the loneliest place is not the bed,
It’s the echos inside my head.

I bought my peace in silver flakes,
from shadow hands in quiet breaks.
They said it shimmered, said it flew —
but gravity still pulled me through.

I lined the stars on bathroom tile,
called it freedom for a while.
It sparkled like a borrowed sky —
but burned like comets passing by.

I chased the night, I chased the glow,
until the stars fell down below.
And when the morning asked for me —
I left in dreams I’d paid to see.

I am the black sheep,
Just like in the rhyme.
I am different, but everything is always asked of me.

I have no more wool to give,
Or energy to offer you.
What more do you expect from my bare soul?

I have torn everything I loved away from me.
Everything that made me who I am,
Just to give it to you.

Are you satisfied?
Are you happy with holding the weight of my burdens?

I hope you are.
Because even if your weren't,
You would only give it back with threadbare cracks and half of it missing.

Watching the sun go down
Watching the sun come up
Seeing people move on
Seeing life go on
Watching my life go down
Like the last ship sinking, unseen and uncalled for

Nobody even seems to know I'm out here
Not a flare not a static on the radio
No surface or land in sight just
Me and my mind
A silent rising tide
Drifting afar towards the nothing
Just away

I blend with the crowd of those resembling,
Torn, abandoned, empty and waste,
Meek and faded, walking with bows,
Forgotten the hand warmth, the others, unfaced.

The others, who’ve lost both faith and nerves,
The others, who’ve learnt a cruel lesson,
The others, walled up to the full limit,
The others, whose souls are wholly lessened.

Conception as it may,
Will lead to only dismay.
For only it to be complete,
Incompleteness holds.

someone said,
“at least now you can heal.”
but healing feels
like folding laundry
for a house that’s half empty
and pretending it’s enough