Broken Road

Samuel E. Burns’ Broken Road is a stark, atmospheric journey through loss, guilt, and unexpected companionship. It reads like a cinematic narrative gritty, quiet, and emotionally charged following two men who are bound not by choice but by circumstance, each carrying pieces of a past they can’t escape.
From the opening lines, “I woke up to nothing, / The world had turned its back,” Burns establishes a tone of desolation. The world of Broken Road is not just physically barren it’s spiritually emptied out, populated by ruins, ghosts, and the remnants of former dreams. The imagery of “rusted, broken dreams” and the old car with “wheels that barely turned” serves as a powerful metaphor for the narrator himself: worn down, barely moving, surviving on momentum rather than hope.
One of the strongest aspects of the piece is its exploration of brotherhood not romanticized, but raw and reluctant. The narrator’s brother is not a source of comfort but a mirror of everything broken: confused, wild-eyed, and equally adrift. Their relationship feels strained and unpolished, yet there’s an undeniable loyalty beneath the surface. Burns captures that tension beautifully in lines like:
“I didn’t want a partner,
But here we are, holding on.”
Their shared suffering becomes the thread that slowly binds them together.
As the journey stretches on, the recurring motif of movement the road, the ruins, the towns reflects the emotional wandering of the characters. They’re fleeing from something unnamed, but the further they travel, the more it becomes clear they’re not chasing answers; they’re trying to stay alive long enough to find meaning again. The narrator’s resistance to hearing about the life his brother left behind paired with his admission that “the silence was worse” reveals the fragile connection forming between them.
The poem shines strongest in its quieter moments, especially toward the end. Burns shifts from pure bleakness to a subtle, almost tender acknowledgment that something human is emerging from their shared hardship:
“In this space between the words,
I can feel something shift,
Maybe we’re not alone anymore.”
This gradual evolution from isolation to a fragile sense of connection is what gives Broken Road its emotional depth. It’s not a story of redemption or heroic transformation; it’s a story of two broken men who discover that the act of walking the same road might be the closest thing to healing they’ll ever find.
The final lines bring the themes full circle. The car, once a symbol of the narrator’s last tie to the world he lost, becomes less important than the journey itself. He admits he’s no longer sure what he’s looking for a sign that his purpose has shifted from reclaiming the past to surviving the present.
Ultimately, Broken Road is a poignant, beautifully restrained exploration of grief, brotherhood, and endurance. Burns’ voice is steady, unembellished, and honest, capturing the kind of emotional truth that resonates long after the last line. It’s a story about loss, yes, but also about the quiet, stubborn strength found in simply not walking the road alone anymore.