In deep thought I am this night, this day, this hour, in this way. Forgiveness seems so far away for deeds undone, done, mistakes made, understandings laid aside. Somewhere, deep inside, I cried, cry, reach out, live and die. Somewhere I cannot find the answers to the questions I’ve put before myself. Somewhere there is piece missing, found, lost, covered with dust, washed clean, then disposed of with the garbage that seems to give birth to more pain, sorrow, shame, covered with blood. How can I not look at myself with anger, despair, and despise that which is within this bag of weak flesh and bone.
Published by Gordon
I would hope that anyone who reads my poetry understands that I write what comes to my mind and it doesn't mean I'm the reality of the words. I mean that just because I write about alcoholism does not mean I am the character in the poems. I write about those I've known and those I know and a very wide grouping that is of sinners and saints, those who know who and where they are going and those who are completely lost. I am empathic. I write in the first person because I feel the reality of what I am writing about. Like Dean Martin pretending to be drunk while performing I am not what it may seem. Just a thought as I know some out there who read what I write see the words and not the art or the understanding of the problem I am commenting on, nor do they understand that the comment is for the purpose of illustration and not my own personal reality. Married to a wonderful woman who is my best friend. Ronald Reagan Conservative Republican. Masters of Accounting-Taxation, United States Marine, taught for 10 years at the University of South Florida, held the following professional certifications: CPA, CVA, CFA. Published author, currently writing three novels and a ton of poems. View all posts by Gordon
