I Push On
Strong, though softened by stillness. Handsome with no
hunger for approval. My mind is sharp, yet I resist its
blade, choosing silence over the storm of thought. I
feel deeply—but wear a mask of numbness. I dream, but
only in fiction’s fragile glow. I ache and find warmth
within the wound. I wrestle with the world, then walk
away too soon. I burn with rage, craving to be heard. I
am lost—yet somehow know the map by heart. I hear the
whispers of truth but would rather roar. I am ordered
in chaos, my maze its own blueprint. I hope while my
mind floats in empty skies. I extend a hand but pull
it back in silence. I grasp the weight of the unseen,
afraid, yet drawn to the fire like a moth. I empathize
from shadows drenched in ego. I am real—but fragments
echo through the hollow. My needs are met, yet I
starve within. I could touch the stars, but none
called my name. The world offers infinity—but
I feel caged by my skin. I believe—but faith slips
through my clenched fist. I love with oceans of depth,
but it remains locked in ice. I am bold, but fear the
cliff's edge. A brilliant design—crafted with divine
imperfection. A masterpiece chipped, scratched, and
sacred, searching for meaning in a fog of noise. My
sail, trembling and torn, yet still catching the wind.
And through it all, I push on.
Copyright © Brian Russ | Year Posted 2025
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