Charles J. Ingerson


Sometimes stranded
lost in vacuumed space
my inner soul demanded
me to quit this awful race.

Misting rain and winds blow
the wetness smell of dogs
all this and more to toll
splitting and burning logs.

Strange the brew within
dementia and unforgiven
the past and future so thin
tempest thoughts so driven.

Escaping into the abyss
running and loading still
all boundaries to trespass
so many demons to kill.

Sleep fading into screams
anger directed not abused
settling into violent dreams
awakenings so confused.

Never sure what’s real
left alone to win this day
moments or hours to steal
then awakening to pray.