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Prodigal

07 Dec

I lost the trail by choosing wrong
but is the track the same back there
or must I risk cutting a new one?
My axe head fell into the swamp
because I shirked my place in camp
the blade was dull as thudding broke
my handle slipped away.
the old trees trapped me unawares
they’ve tied me in their woven snares
black clouds press down upon my head
I’ve lost the will to fight
I spin and spin, but backward go
but honestly, I already know
a loser fills my tattered shoes
til I conduct them home

 
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Posted by on December 7, 2021 in Poetry

 

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