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