It's difficult for me to say
--I wear my blindness on my tongue--
I think he stole my numbness from me,
I think my sense of self is done.
But ask me if I could've guessed
The pain of sudden vacancy,
My answer would, of course, be yes--
A lie that never quite becomes me.
I straggle to the starting line,
To finish up this cruel race.
I bear my trusty firearm,
and broken boots without the lace.
And now I'm finally standing here,
A testament to stubbornness,
I cock my final pistol shot:
My ticket straight to nothingness.
Yet, quick, inside me shines a light,
Entrenched in all my apathy,
A shot inside me stops the fight
That promised me beloved nothings.
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Yes, yes, and amen. This is classic Utzian poetry; reminds me of the every-popular "Darkness Shining." I think your poems are at their best in terms of fluidity, structure, and imagery when you get all philosophical-like. Well done.
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