just trying to help out

the pain is awkward;

like a hypothermic wave

that rolls from the red mouth

of a cresting river

over the small town heart

I’ve just rebuilt.

 

need directions back to safety,

but everyone is waving their hands

and speaking in tongues.

 

and, their eyes;

the swarm of eyes are aflame with fear,

madness, confusion.

 

suddenly, I’m their leader.

stumbling blindly forward

with my outstretched hands

searching for a stronghold,

a dry place, a light switch.

 

trying to be a beacon,

but I feel more like a siren.

 

if there’s a blessing to be found

in this tangled damnation,

it’s that it’s raining too hard

for anyone to notice that I’m crying.

Reviews

[K.C. Zbryk]

The ending of this is absolutly amazing. Bout knocked me off my feet man. I always liked the thought of being the ever sarcastic ray of sunshine and if anything ever fit the description it would be this poem. Looking for something good while laying on a hand grenade. Great writing!

[Poetic Beauty]

This reminds me of two thing a drug addiction or someone who is seriously ill. The descriptions allow the reader to feel and see what it is like in the narrators mind

[EMF]

Bugger me if at the end of that I didn't just want to hold you. In a totally manly fashion of course. When you go to work My Friend, you are true Hell On Wheels. I have run out of hats to doft, let alone sign over for sublime quality of writing, bar a nice, neat leather Austrian Job. It's duly doft. Why. Because theat work is incredible. Hell on Wheels man. Hell on Wheels