deepundergroundpoetry.com

Running for the hills

I imprisoned each forbidden urge in airtight glass jars;  
the mist surging over the hills, slipping masquerade
masks over hotblooded veins of wild fire.  
The panic strikes with a fist to the stomach,  
butterflies reawakening into hectic convulsions.  
 
Thunderclaps applaud feet that flee and victims that hide.  
We're sprinting the trail where immortals wish  
for mortality drenched with overflowing adrenaline,  
blood pulsing out a prediction of death in  
weak-toned Morse code.  
 
The hearts desire is engraved into our genetic structure,  
a singular path chosen and built before we can blink once.  
Grass stems flinch away from my presence with fear,  
ashes of family trees are carried by grieving winds.
(Run for the hills, run, run, run)  
I won't stop running.
 
Scribbler12
Written by Scribbler12
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