BEYOND LANGUAGE
an empty gun
BEYOND LANGUAGE Something’s happened to my poetry I’ve lost the passion to write The words are awkward on the page My lines are rigid and tight. The topics are mediocre My mind is terribly stuck The pattern of my breathing Misses the feeling in my gut. The rhyme’s got me tangled, tied up in knots The stanzas just aren’t right They fade off instead of stop. I’ve reached a place where digging To reveal the source of pain Is exhausting, unforgiving Chills my naked skin like rain. I heard early this morning A friend took his life Dying in a fire with track marks in his arms He disappeared for years, staying out of sight By the time he reached out for help Nothing could be done. I wonder what has happened. How I’ve grown so numb When I search inside for language I find an empty gun. ©2025 Stephanie M. Vargo