I walk miles into the sun;
a blister burning
on the back of my foot.
There is a hole in my sock;
at the sole.
I feel the burning
with every step, headlong
into the sun.
I feel the burning
and I know there is nothing
saving me.
I try to assign meaning
to everything;
a dead butterfly and I go on
I sit in the shade, but I know
I have to go on;
marching in the direction of
a home.
Nobody is going to save me
except myself,
so I accept myself and go on
until the sun goes down
and the rain arrives,
at last.

written on 04/02/2014 by: Matt Kane