The Path To The Castle


my feet sticky with mud
slipping through grass
battered by mindless stones,
in frosty light

a chase that tuned to survival
for someone believing in a
metaphorical death
of people who don't dream,
but moon-dark

brown dead leaf
under my shoeless soles
is but a confirmation
that the fall is harder
when you survive.



Poetry by muddy waters
Read 1206 times
Written on 2007-02-28 at 19:28

Tags Path  Castle 

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