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I’m stuck inside a thought and can’t get out.
I wonder if that’s what life really means?
It’s based on pain and littered with self-doubt –
a frozen box in time of shattered dreams?
This thought will only goes so far so fast –
at times I randomly receive a clue.
It comes and goes and never seems to last –
you’ve heard of it, you call it deja vu.
And so, I scratch and scream inside this box –
and pray they haven’t buried me alive.
I don’t fear wood, I’m horrified of rocks.
A six foot upward crawl? I won’t survive.
Perhaps I should accept the fact I’m trapped?
Of literary garble, I am tapped.

 


Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, work of his has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review and The Quirk.

© 2007, Bryon D. Howell

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