Powerless

I can feel it
A burn
An itch
Just under my watch band
The thud of a pulse waiting to bleed
A voice in my head saying
Set yourself
Cut
And set yourself free


They don't know I'm already dead
Just a lost soul tripping through this purgatory called life
A whisper on the wind
A shrinking violet in the harsh sun
Shriveling and desiccating to nothingness
A wilting summer rose in the fall left with only spiny pinpricks
A forgotten memory of a happier time
Cynical, cold, envious
Hateful
Enraged
Powerless

Original Poetry by ©2014 Pamela N. Brown

Our Map

The map of our lives takes us down many roads like a heartbeat in the light
we chug roughly around each bend no matter how treacherous the road
no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

we bullet across long stretches of desert highways
we choke on earth spewed from our tires kicking rocks off caliche roads
we test sharp twists and turns of mesas
we cruise through canopied forests, blind to dangers within
we slam to stops, just to rev up and go again
we rush through busy cities, jumping from one place to the next
we jam up in traffic, white knuckled and sore
we feel fury breathing down our necks when we have no drive
we fly to the tops of rollercoasters only to fall back down again
we stumble over rocky roads and slide across sharp crags
we travel unknown terrain through forbidden alcoves
we find hidden trails with secret treasures
we ponder forks and intersections
we take many u-turns
we've been here before

but, no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

©Pamela N. Brown 02172014

Creativity

I've lost my creativity;

I can't find it;

it's gone.

It gave me longevity,

the vast will to

live on.

No longer there for us to see,

invisible,

moved on.

You seen my creativity?

Bring it to me.

I'm wan.

©Pamela N. Brown