Daily, I strive to trust,
but my heart just continues to rust.
My engine light has been on awhile,
and it’s harder and harder to smile.
You are so sweet, but I feel bitter,
my memories are like used kitty litter.
Chronic pain is like a metal chain,
they said, “no pain, no gain?”
Around my neck, going down, down,
into the waves that stir differently,
in the sea, deep,
a treasure, I keep close to my chest,
the best I can.
Through my lifespan,
I pray for some kind of miracle,
or whispered oracle,
in my deaf ear,
who sails on waters, without fear.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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Comments (1)
It’s painfully honest but there’s still a flicker of hope in the tide. When you picture that treasure in your chest—what do you imagine it is?