Poetry from Sam Burks


“Last Meal”

If lies were murder

then I would probably have

no more than

an hour left

until I was standing

on the gallows


for all those things I had

given away

to be given

back to me


“The Silent Light”

The light that speaks

Was silent

And when I wanted

Truth the most

The light flickered out



This year’s rains were generous;
the river is wider
than ever
the flowers are all
singing with such brilliant color
not even the sun
can expose them all
and the birds are faster
and higher
than ever

my mouth
is dry
my eyes
are empty
my stomach cries
for fresh bread

I am not
the earth
I am not
the seasons
I am not
the coma
in the dirt
holding seeds
for next year’s rain

I am the asphalt,
deceivingly trafficking life
through obvious death;
I am the structures
of ignorance, toying with
fabricated truth and counting
debts that don’t exist;
I am what was once a tree,
now hidden in a chemical suit,
faking immortality;
I am a person,
as are we all,
separate from myself,
from the rain

And today’s sun is warm;
the smiles reflecting
off it’s surface
are brighter
than ever before,
the eyes are shimmering
with borrowed light
and sending warmth
through the empty space

my face
is blank,
my eyes
are empty,
and I am
the one you might call

Sam Burks is from the San Francisco Bay Area, in California, and can be reached at srburks@gmail.com