Spinning in circles, I drill a hole
Through the concrete beneath my toes.

Never stopping to ask, “What if?”
Never looking beyond the gift.

Keen to all your little games,
It’s your pleasure to cause me pain.

Tortured days and nights with you,
No more meaning coming through.

Wishing all of it would end,
I make peace with foe or friend.

Will you give me your free hand?
Respect from you would be so grand.


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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