Made For… by Patrick Bairamian

I am not made for that

to count the quantum possibilities of

infinity until the oblivion of your

book-smarts traps you at a corner

you’d need to build a ladder at a height exceeding

Olympus, but it can be done

I’m not made for that

To write the world’s sorrows and its exclamations

over the period of a half-life drunken state

of poetry and metaphors drowning in my own

literary forms to wake up hung over and

change the world with the start of

the greatest chapter ever written in the page

of human dissidence

I am not made for that

to search upon the horizon with the eye

of a calculating beating heart

weave a design over the pale pulp of a

string bound notebook- searching for the

elementary structure of a foundation that

will change and morph into itself through

the mechanics drawn out by a pencil and

part of mind no reaper could have access to

I am not made for that

which makes the world spin with strife

and beg the people of your tribe

to love you for promises so vast

the sea would cringe at your deceit.

I am made to know the limitations of

what constitutes bloodshed and wisdom

where the barrel ends on my arm

projects its deliverance unto my anti

I am made to hold the stripes of our

namesake liberty “bury it underneath a

fallen, never forgotten bloodline

to put aside my daily bread” honor the

defense of my child

set aside economics – hold my ground for

the winter approaches.

I am made to protect what is mine, take what

once was, build what will be, live as a soldier.

 

Patrick Bairamian is the founder and editor of No Name Press. He is the featured new writer for this week. He is also the author of a book of poetry entitled Rogue. You can reach him at patrickbairamian -at- gmail.com.