Driving back
into a dark overgrown jungle
pushing past awkward and wild
to where the truth lies
rooted deep
impassive
like a tall oak
cooling me
from the blistering sun
as leaves begin to fall away and
expose old scabs
piling offerings
damp mounds
dormant and unruffled
waiting for a familiar face to
burn them on the alter
and appease the gods
applying the salve
soothing the ache
that gnaws
like a fungus
mushrooming
white circles on the lawn.
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The Dark Path Brightens
It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...
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How do you say goodbye recall the fragile faith in the eyes of a starfish before tossed ashore by the careless surf? Or crack the ...
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