As I Am

Empty screams echo off the walls

Of my simple soul, at night. It crawls.

The weeds from my garden

Creep up my legs. They twist around

My knocking knees. I count the cries

I hear in my head. I can’t imagine

What’s filled me with dread.

I don’t know if I’m alive or dead.

Give unto me some wine and bread.


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

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