There was a poem prompt I found as a member of WritersDigest.com. Poetry fascinates, the way men like Robert Frost and James Dickey can use words that make one really think, feel, cry, laugh. I have written poems with rarity to my wife, and I have written them only a little bit more frequently while journalling. This is my first public offering, to which I only ask (as I do with all my efforts) honesty in response.
Reflections I Shut My Eyes To
The border between wake and sleep
Continues to dull and fade with each cycle
As words written in sand kissed by the inching surf.
Thoughts in grey roll on steel rimmed wheels
Relentlessly on deeply rutted pathways,
Fed by my stress-weakened psyche.
Every night I walk the dream of the night before
Should sleep take me wine-numbed in the dark hours.
It is not terror but self-doubt that claims
My unconscious wanderings.
Dreams repeated only in context but never content.
Impotent self railing against my reflection.
Impotent self naked and exposed.
Impotent self moving in quicksand as the world passes.
Impotent self constantly pissing and never getting relief.
Impotent self unable to consummate much less to fuck.
Impotent self cowering in subconscious shadows as morning shakes my shoulder.