Cold, Hard Facts. A poem.

Empty out these cold, hard facts
Pour them in a bowl to inspect
The entrails, mysteries unsolved
By the clueless and the klutzes

Cold, hard facts and nothing else
But a ringing that won’t leave
Your heart and ears, a reminder
That you had it better, once

Before these cold, hard facts
Blew you away one lonely
Windswept day in August
And left you better off dead

All these cold, hard facts
Pounding at your temple
Like a barrel to your head
A bullet of cold, hard facts

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print.

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Ice Cold. A poem.

A perilous montage
Belies the truth
A potent mix that
Soaks in waters
Where icebergs
And submersibles
Hide bittersweet
Goodbyes

A dangerous place
Windswept with lies
A potent reminder
That all is not
As it was or could be
An icy reminder
Of yesterday’s
Foreshadowing

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Green. A poem.

The green envelops me
And I float
And rise
And sink
On this green tide

The green consumes me
As I taste
And toil
And vomit
This green inside

The green greets me
And seduces me
And I

As with all

Welcome it
In return

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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I Tried. A poem.

I tried to make you happy
And not to bring you down
But again I failed so inevitably
Thorny crown upon my brow

I tried to make you happy
But perhaps the stage was set
For another lonely scene of remonstrance
A monologue of regret

I tried to make you happy
But it seems to be my fate
To swim against a surly tide
And to drown in history’s wake

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Sh&t Show. A poem.

This sh&t show never ends
I would change the channel
But the remote’s on the fritz
And there’s nothing else
Worthwhile on anyway
And even if there was
I’m too apathetic to care
And too down to get up today
Too spent to make some change

And too

Too

This sh&t show never ends
Until I
Finally

Tell it to

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Currents and Whirlpools. A poem.

Somewhere along the way
I lost sight of yesterday

Drifting on currents and whirlpools

Threatening to take me
Down to places I’d rather not be

And so I fell as deeply as one could
As far down as one never ever should
A stone and leaden weight
Sinking deeper into fate

Violent currents and whirlpools

Threatening to spin me right around
To run my hard fought world aground
Like a ship without a helm
Like a lifetime overwhelmed

And after all that, I survived
Left somewhat ragged and indecisive
Yet I struggled, rose to my feet
An embittered revolutionary

Fighting currents and whirlpools

(That won’t take me there again
Won’t spin me down the drain)

Although I live with constant hurt
The culmination of this work
I will walk with head held high
Still standing and not crying

And to all those currents and whirlpools

I am not afraid of you

For more Poetry, click here.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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So. A stream of consciousness poem.

So.

So so so.

So, a lot of people seem to have an issue with uncertainty. About where they are headed, about the meaning of life. You know. The big questions.

I’m one of those. Sometimes.

So.

So, I know I’m on a path. I’m a believer in predestination. Destiny. Fate. Call it what you want. I never used to be, but too many things have played out in my life to be coincidence. Believe it or not.

So.

So, yeah, I’m a believer. And as such, I’m not really uncertain about where I’ll end up, big picture-wise.

But I am pretty uncertain about where I’m gonna be with the little stuff. The nitty gritty. The stuff that drags us down. Money problems. Love. Family. Getting by.

So.

So, I write poetry, and I use it to express myself and talk about sh&t that worries me and stuff I need to get off my chest. I bet you do, too.

Even this train of thought is a poem. It flows. It expresses. It’s me.

So.

So so so.

So, yeah, I worry about stuff all the time. Just like you. Just like every f&@$ing person in the whole world. But I’m selfish, like every f$&@ing person in the whole world.

And although I think and worry about others, deep down I worry more about myself because I’m just a selfish pr$ck.

Who swears a lot.

So.

So, a train of thought doesn’t always have to stop at the station to make its point, you know.

Sometimes it just has to ride along those tracks.

Even if it never quite gets to its destination.

So.

So, uncertainty sucks.

So, let that train get to the station.

And try not to worry so.

For more Poetry, click here.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Briars and Thorns. A poem.

All these briars and thorns—
Sticking and slicing,
Pricking and enticing—
Patterning my body
And reflecting my somber discontent.

Marking a trail upon this empty flesh—
A patina of scar tissue,
A fleshy, vertiginous map—
To guide me like a lost,
Angst-filled, wayward child.

Back from the emptiness
Of my long congealing heart.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Drowning Not Waving. A poem.

It’s so easy
to wave
And then
slide below
And let the tide
take me
Wherever
we’ll go

Waving
not drowning
Just a puppet
on show
Drowning
not waving
Behind a
curtain of woe

For more Poetry, click here.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Blame. A poem.

I took the blame
For it was my lot
To stumble and toil
And make my weary way
Back to life
From whence I was cast
Aside

But blame should be
Apportioned
Fairly and to each
For blame lies not in one
But in the actions
And inactions
Of all

Forevermore

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Murder of Crows. A poem.

A tendency to exaggerate.
Variable and inconsistent,
A migratory bird, unaware
Which hemisphere is up
Or what time of year it is.

A mountain and a molehill,
Keynotes of your dependency.
Furtive and insecure
And longing for approval;
All wayward illegitimacy.

Time to find the truth within
And not try so hard
To be party to an
Estranged and inconsolable
Murder of crows.

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Paramour. A poem.

These metaphors,
So sorely overused,
Are now circumspect
And reeking of apathy.

I long to find
Such cunning words
That would spin
Symphonies of ardency.

This paramour,
In evidence alone,
Has proven they
Can break your heart so many times,

Yet always have you
Coming back for more.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Practice Makes Perfect. A poem.

I reach
And yet
Everything
Is so
Far away

Unknowable

My fingertips
Brush
The surface
Of something
I cannot

Grasp

No matter
How hard
I try

But that
Won’t stop
Me from

Persevering

Because

Practice
Makes
Perfect

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Switch. A poem.

I
stopped
to
think
and
thought

Perhaps I shouldn’t do so
Perhaps I should just stand and rise
Above all the crap I’m floating in
All the muck and detritus
I’ve let gather around me
All these years and tears
And heartfelt fears
That congest the waters
And drag me down
A skeletal grip upon my ankle
Clasping while I writhe
And shake in heedless contempt
Until I’m submerged within myself
And every opportunity to
Reach the light above
Is taken from me

As
easily
as
flicking
a
switch

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The Wait is Over. A poem.

The wait is over
And although you were active
All along
Spewing literary concerns
Like jaded opinions
And late afternoon enfilades
The time has come
For release
From this future tense
To revel in the irony
That what kept you going
Was a bitter sense of yesterday
And wanting
To get far away
From all the things you loved
Just a little too little
And just a little
Too much
The wait is over
And now the real journey
Can begin

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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The Whole Shebang. A poem.

Attitudes entrenched by years
of disbelief, tears and fears.
Shaken, abused and confused;
broken, taken and refused,
again and again,
until there’s nothing left
but regret and emptiness.

An anger that shakes these
foundations of resentment,
these skyscrapers of doubt.
Twisting and turning
this rage about
until there’s nothing left
but wanton disregard.

Enough to sedate
a deafened mind and soul,
that’s no longer whole
but wasted
on you
and me,
and the

Whole

Damn

Shebang

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Centre Stage. A poem.

Saw you again the other day,
ring on finger, centre stage.
I smiled, a little whimsically,
through sad and bitter memories.

I looked back amongst the bric-a-brac,
how we laughed and walked, and fought like that.
And played and talked and teased again—
sometimes enemies, sometimes friends.

I realised, despite the lies of youth,
I was glad you found your personal truth.
Happy your road led to this place,
when another path, might mean disgrace.

Happy the circle is now complete,
That it helped you rise from your defeat.
Now, I’ll carry you in head and heart,
Until from this life, I do depart.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Entrenched. A poem.

Entrenched within

Mud to knees
No flight from here
A no man’s land
Of blithe confusion
And emptiness

Entrenched within

This sharp regret
Like a bayonet
Some veiled remorse
And back and forth
In the wasteland

Entrenched within

Over the top
Until you’re stopped
Bullet or ballad
Fleet foot, fallen
And no escape

Entrenched within

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Well Spent. A poem.

My arms like tree limbs,
gnarled and objectified.
Here in the last remaining light,
reaching for an unreachable sign
by the side of a road,
long and bitterly loathed.

My feet encased in clay,
entrenched along with attitudes
I left in yesterday,
along with foolish platitudes
and angst-ridden symphonies
in flight and obscure.

Still the creaking joints reach out,
suppressing every thought and doubt
that lingers in the weary caress
of roots and reeds and weeds.
If you are only passing by,
perhaps you could spend some time with me.

At least I can guarantee
it will be time well spent, indeed.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Corruption. A poem.

Your corruption has taken me
Down and done, blistered and foul
Every stream, more pain to cross
Until this bitter pill has done its
Sour and murky job
And set this soul to rights
So I can ride again
But always with this fear
That your corruption
Will bring me down again

For more Poetry, click here.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Pulse. A poem.

Tar, congealing in your veins,
sheltering your heartbeat
in its quicksilver repose.

Aortic mysteries, dissected
atriums and ventricles
at ease and at odds,
pulling and pushing
through luxurious days
and overheated nights.

What will it take to quicken
your lackadaisical pulse,
to break your blood and soul
from this lethargy that holds
you fastidiously to ransom?

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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The Cycle. A poem.

The cycle is constant

Together, alone

I long for the instant
Until I’m finally home

I endure and I crave

The simplest life

Where my soul is saved
By my family and wife

But the cycle is constant

Together, alone

The cycle is constant
Until I’m finally home

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Binge. A poem.

Timed and untimed,
A chaos of raindrops
Upon a sleepy roof
Filling gutters and trailing
Spume in snail trails
That wind their way
Drinking toasts to those
Whose evaporation
From the scene
Left such a hole
In awkward conversation.

The clink of glass
And amber froth
Disappeared in the wake
Like reeling in the catch
To be emptied later
Upon the deck
Before the toilet door.
Memories worth
Fighting for
But such a waste
Of good beer.

The last call
Of siren nights
A gentle gutter bed
For swift repose
And nights better off
Misremembered
Than recalled
Until the next
Your head laid upon
The tiers and tiles
Perhaps better off dead.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Damn Fool. A poem.

Damn fool
Believing you’re good enough
Damn fool
For thinking you got it made
Damn fool
For believing in life and love
Damn fool
Taking belief to your grave
Damn fool
I still believe in you
Damn fool
Maybe you do, too

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Rainfall. A poem.

Pale droplets cascade
Down gray-faced facades
Of dimpled iron will
Collecting the residue
Of dusty acrimony
Along their chaotic
Weatherbeaten paths.

Pools of mercury
Dance in the afterglow
Rising and falling
To the somber occasion
And recalling times
And memories lost
Abandoned in twilight.

Rain, let it fall on me
And remind me of myself
As only I remember
And only I forget.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Today/Tomorrow. A poem.

Today:

All at once, there’s no one there,
the dark, an isolation tank.
The world outside faded away,
a post-apocalyptic prank.

Tomorrow:

The light here that lingers on,
electric in the morning dew.
This joyous, often mellow song
that shows it’s face to me and you.

Today:

I’m excommunicated, now,
shunned, it seems, by those I love.
Black hole, it lingers here, anon,
crushing fractious head above.

Tomorrow:

Perhaps, I overthink too much.
Every thought, catastrophe;
maverick mountains, molehills grown
in usual, post-haste anxiety.

Today/tomorrow:

My burden and my onward sorrow,
a division so intensely personal.
The fate that I must always follow
—black dog consumes his fill of offal.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Time to drive. a poem.

The manual transmission
sticks at times,
a reminder that we
need a service and I
need to find a new place
for my engine to unwind.

There was a time
when things were simpler,
when you could change
the sparks yourself.
But now it’s all computers,
and instruments
and waxing/waning moments
in technicolor
and surround sound.

Now, I need to feel
the road beneath my wheels
and roam free of this room
that encapsulates
and encourages me.
I don’t believe
you would appreciate
this fresh and wise
perspective.

Now, it’s time to drive.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Curious. A poem.

Mister curious

Digging up questions
And quotients
And seeking answers
Undivided, yet multiplied

How curious
Can one man be
In a world where
Everything
Is laid out plain to see?

Keep digging

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Expectations. A poem.

How often do expectations
Let us down?
How often do we strain
And stretch the imagination
In a tug of war
Of real and immaterial
And how often do we fail
Because we thought
Just a little too much
And a little too long
A little too wild
A little too strong
How often do expectations
Let us down?

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Consequential Rage. A poem.

I tire of being a wanderer,
of petty inconsistency
and introverted wiles,
bickering and bleating
in this bleak and vast
apogee of mind.

I wanted to be confident,
full of vanity and fire
—an actor on a stage—
such eloquence, so wild,
such convoluted things to say,
so naked in his pride.

But my mind said not
to question why I am,
why I think this way.
Why my heart transcends
and acquiesces,
it’s just the price I pay.

And so this tired wanderer
does blunder on and on,
making ripples in his wake
until his song is sung—
a mournful theme that sets
this sorry world aflame.

Until the curtain
and the page
draw to a close
this meaningful and
consequential rage.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Mountain Climber. A poem.

I never found a mountain I couldn’t climb, you see.

Motivation was the biggest issue,
Dragging at my footsteps like leaden weights,
Pulling like some tug of war with Heracles,
Straining to be free.

When I made it to the top,
I would look out and celebrate my accomplishment,
Because though it was just one mountain past,
The next might be my very last.

I might fall into a chasm of my own making,
Suffer a landslide of confidence;
The rocky ground might break beneath my feet,
Offering no purchase or relief.

I never found a mountain I couldn’t climb, you see:
My only enemy was me.

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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I Live. A poem.

I live

         Amongst

                          Serrated tongues

                          And plastic

                         Hearts

                                                      Amongst

                         The detritus

                         Of bitter

                        meaning

And

                        Forlorn hopes

I live

          Because

                       I can

                                And will

                     Always

I live

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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The Hole. A poem.

The hole stares back at me,
A great, unblinking eye
That will not let me be.
The hole is black as pitch
And filled with pain and lies,
Every scar and every stitch.
The hole it draws me in,
Inescapable gravity,
A match I cannot win.
The hole encloses me
And I am down again
Never to be free.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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Life, Finally. A poem.

My wanderings,
part of me, intrinsically.
My wonderings,
ostensibly necessary.
My heart and head,
as one, not separately.
My head and heart,
all I need, invariably.

My turns of phrase
never lead me astray.
My phrasing, beguiling,
when it turns that way.
My life is finally, where I
want and need to be.
My life, the sum, is the
worst and best of me.

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

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The Search. A poem.

I have yet to find
The erstwhile substance,
The peace of mind,
Free from nomenclature
And chilled regrets.

The ice upon my lake,
Covered in spider filigree
And waiting to consume
Me with every overly
Anxious step.

My navigation clears,
The further I go,
But slow-witted overtures
And death-defy requests fall
On ears long since deaf.

The search goes on,
The snow ever deepens.
Each footstep harder
In this trackless realm of
possibilities and deep unrest.

But still I seek,
Still I yearn alone,
And eventually I will find
The one true love that will
forever free my head.

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

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