There’s no present like the time

Annie walked those paths    
with painstaking accuracy    
spearing her cane into mud.    
She wouldn’t be crowded,    
refused it in fact    
even nearby cows    
gave her plenty of room    
as she strode up that hill    
swinging her stick    
from side-to-side    
determined to avenge    
the world’s gloom.    
she snagged new pants    
on a barbed wire fence,    
a neatly torn ‘v’    
on the back of her thigh.    
Annie was furious —    
“you’re telling me    
my heart pumps me    
all the way up here    
and my Rohan strides    
are the first thing    
to fucking die?”
In all honesty    
I didn’t know    
what to tell her.    
Some people hike,    
others soak in the view    
baptising themselves    
in a dirt-stained logic;    
an old ritual of presence    
that speaks to them,    
through them.    
can be like that too.  
Written by Morbs
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6 reading list entries 3
comments 7 reads 157
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 1:15am by Betty
Yesterday 00:25am by AspergerPoet56
Yesterday 00:09am by Noble_Incubus
Yesterday 10:03pm by Eerie
Yesterday 9:45pm by Jordan
Yesterday 8:17pm by SweetKittyCat5
") ")}