At Days End

match burning close up
Brian Hogan

(written in Iambic pentameter)

Like a matchstick withers in a rainstorm

I don’t stand a chance to stay dry or warm

And survival alludes me, sipping gin

I drown, and gasp, and try and claw but never win

And I’ve lost sight of my ultimate goal

So I wipe my eyes clean of powdered coal

And blink the dust free of tired lashes

And I can see then that my outfit clashes

Pity yanks at my stomach with it’s weight

And slows my stride until I vascilate

Between the hard truth that I am not loved

And softer lies that I can push and shove

Into shapes that I can manage with ease

As if at three I fed the dog my peas

I taste not the truth, but I know it’s there

My eyes beat my soul; a relentless glare

I tell myself that I’ll survive alone

And I look at the dog, with tattered bone

And see the truth like a cold hammer whack

My eyes, bruised and bewildered, I want my life back.  

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About Brian

About Brian

Brian is a Writer, Clarity Coach, Filmmaker and Adjunct Professor who loves teaching and learning, and living in the uncertainty of it all.


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