Like Von Ryan running for the train,
by Will Coker
I wait for the shot, but hear no sound.
Am I drowning, or can't see the truth?
Once again, am I selling myself lies?
It never leaves my mind, swirling,
claustrophobic, my thinking shouds the reality
of a racing heart, unable to to give blood.
Another melodrama? Or has the insanity
crippled my failed spirit?
Can I take the action or am I just talking?
My women, what will happen?
But why should I care?
I dance on nails, and never sleep.
My children will never know, and worry of songs.
Is this a way for me to go?
Or has insanity turned dauntingly real?