Oil Pump

Image by timailius via Flickr


Written in 1998, on the train that was taking me back to college from winter break. I often took trips by train, or to a strange city, and would remain mute for hours or days. This let me drill into my psyche and take a look around. I found it very cathartic. As the scenery passed before me in the observation car, I wrote this poem.

Why open it up again? Why stretch myself naked
Across the page? Why search for whatever  it is
That causes me such deep-seated pain?
Since the fog of my childhood, the continual
Blankness, I have been confused by so many things.
So much has disappeared into the numb section of my mind—
And I search; I search so ardently for a way of access.
Drunken oil pumps now stand naked against the sunset, pumping
Dry ground—dehydrated mutants of past progress.
They have more than a need for purpose, they need to be
Remembered, to be known as more than useless scraps
Of dreams—they are only useless because the once
Fruitful ground has dried up and mandated, commanded the
Pump to lose favor.
I too pump the forgotten parts of my brain for information,
Want it to come alive beneath the machinery that manipulated it.
The apparatus falls dry, and I lose value in words.
I cease producing.


Aboard the Amtrak Coast Starlight
From Los Angeles to San Francisco

~Keep Walking


About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
This entry was posted in C-PTSD, coping, depression, introspection, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Remembering

  1. I really like your writing style, good information, appreciate it for posting : D.

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