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Sometimes, when you attempt
To reconcile what you see in
The mirror each day, with the
Darkness and emptiness of
Incessant failures and mistakes,
And you strain with all your
Might to squeeze something of
Worth from the torrid chaos
And anxiety that seeks to drown
You, all that manages to drip
From the tip of that keen, rusty,
Ragged-edged blade named
'Purpose', is the thinly-veiled
Knowledge that there is at least
A residue of integrity in the
Recognition of the vicious fact,
That there are some things
You can never, ever, forgive
Yourself for. It is brutal. It is
Cold. It is horrifyingly lonely. But
Sometimes that is all there is
Left to a desolate and broken ...
Soul.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Anxiety Poetry Contest", Lewis Raynes, Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2016
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