By John Gregory Evans | Featured Author

There remains
a deadened,
freezing,
almost an anesthetizing
sense of dread
upon my fingertips and hands,
reaching deep into my leg’s nerves,
shattered spinal cord,
peeled away
as one peels an orange.

Walking,
now a challenge,
con-fusion of the fusion,
cervical cord,
Ruptured and bruised,
arrogance of the humanity factor.

Pain
within the eyes
like lightning fingers
to the crown
of God.

At night,
now I lay awake,
not to pity myself,
but to personify the relevance
for the un-forgotten.
Accretion of gunpowder residues,
a controlled combat
chaotic state of mind,
Where courage lay found.

And I from self
to self-consumed,
in a rage of fright,
carries forth another day of exile,
deep with the soul-hunter’s night,

I discover my contribution
for a patriotic chore,
my final thought for Uncle Sam,

Lay claim to stating, no more, no more!

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Author Bio

John Gregory Evans is a poet who writes from the gut, transforming free-verse poetry of his life experiences, good or trauma-related, and craft into art. His accomplishments include having authored a comparative paper with regards to Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s sculpture “Ecstasy of Teresa” and Eros in terms of understanding the differences among human espousal love as an ecstasy cooperating in a divine manner with Christ.

Evans lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and Shih Tzu named Paavo.

John’s Blog: JohnGEvansPoet.com

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