Auto-Pilot

On auto pilot
A tired dust settling
On pages unturned

A sucker punch felt
A shot through the starry night
A plane to take off

They may have found me
I might be at my weakest
But it matters not

Poetry can mean
A number of things to each
And nothing to some

My words can fall flat
Or can ignite a fire
Based on the soil

So I press onward
Remembering the lessons
Of a past buried

Despite my struggles
My heart will be remembered
If only by God

So I trudge along
If only half awake now
Toward a new dawn

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