poems

Faithful words.

Faithful words.

21/06/2017

I couldn’t mind strain a sentence I just knew one after another meant I was walking.

I wouldn’t mind the laughing docks the endless hills or ticking clocks, if it wasn’t for the surprise factor.

That for the past year or so I’ve been walking north. I had no goal but knew where I was going.

I took a rest for seconds and did a map reading, eight thousand miles south it was showing.

I saw a burning bush in the distance which turned out to be a flicker of light on broken glass, from a bottle in the desert which held no water and was too dangerous to trust.

I walked with bleeding feet and aches, aches of a thousand armies until I’d had enough. It was then, then that I began to trust, not in him or me just in the total hopelessness that was my situation. I trusted it was over and that we were done.

Left arm held high holding the note, right holding a flame I torched your existance and I burnt with it.

From head to toe from foot to nose I fried complete whilst the whole world froze.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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