All Quiet On the Western Front
I didn’t know enough
was enough
until it started
to bleed,
till the cold
metal dug under,
clipped nails,
trimmed skin,
munching piece
by piece like
Pac-man would cherries
or colorless ghosts
Father once said,
You can never have enough
I don’t think
father knew
when enough
was enough till
it was beaten,
battered,
and bruised.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
