In There Somewhere

 

There’s a poem in there somewhere,

some story to write, I just can’t

seem to figure it out.

It’s as if I have become numb to

all the waves crashing over me.

 

With the occasional rarity of

monumental tragedy it was sort

of easy to spew out some thoughtful

and heartfelt poem about the nature of

humanity and the genuine belief in

the power of love to conquer all.

 

But that’s boring. So boring.

It doesn’t seem in keeping pace

with the rolling tragedies and

heartbreaking troubles we’ve had

to bear witness to. Over and over

again. Like lessons un-learned.

 

My fingers are too tired to wipe

away any more tears, or tap at

this keyboard, or point at the

monsters in the mirror and scream,

demanding to be let out of this fun house.

 

Fingers tired of rapping on the table,

the desk, the arm rest, the sides of our

own heads. Shoulders so tense, necks

so stiff from shaking our heads,

arms always flexed, hoping to fend off

the next assault to our senses.

 

An exhaustion of the right words,

jumbled and mixed in the ovens of thought,

half-baked in the glow of TV News and the

nightly prayer of, “what now?”

And going to a bed still nervous for the

morning.

 

I know there’s a poem in there though,

a story, a verse or two. I know it’ll come out

eventually, when my fingers want to work,

my shoulders relax, and my mind isn’t goo.