Broken Dreams

I wrote this poem in 2015, during one of the darkest periods of my life. Once again, I had been abusing prescription painkillers, believing that I’d never be free.

The sky opens, rain pours down.
Through streaming tears
I think I see God.
Still, I feel alone, without,
buried deep beneath the
remains of bad decisions.

I am trying, looking
for solutions. No time
for error, no room for emotion.
I grow weary,
unable to overcome
this deep, cold feeling
that I’m on my way out.

Morning comes,
surprised I’m still here.
Oh, how I want to fly; soaring
above failure; somewhere
far over the hills, away from the
stench of my broken dreams
and all this pathetic roadkill.

© 2015 Steven Barto

doldrums

Some days, absent the need for
complete inactivity –
as when frenetic events
force a dead calm –
it seems as though I
choose to lull,
bobbing ever so slightly
on the water,
barely breaking the
cohesion of the
surface tension;

I allow the sun to
cook my fair skin and
bleach my already
blond locks,
and I hear the
slow formation of a
spectacular thunderstorm;

Although sometimes deadly,
such a storm will,
without fail,
relieve, for a while,
the heavy, humid heat
that is my life
alone

drifting…

©2017 Steven Barto