If I could go back,
I’d have met you sooner.
Kept your fingers from being caught in the cruel pistons of the world.
Suffered the same locker-lined hallways,
Danced through the bleakness of youth.
Maybe then you’d have been there when I needed it,
But, more probably, you’d still leave,
And I’d just be-
And you’d just be-
A myth told in a hundred years,
Whispered to someone in love
With edges sharpened by time.
A decorated wagon crept across the desert with a peculiar slothfulness rarely seen during June, as though whoever dwelled beneath the brilliant crimson-and-violet canopy had no heed of the intense heat. Mr. Hall, who most certainly was aware of the intense heat, walked alongside the pair of dusty oxen hitched to the front of the cart. “Is everythin’ comfortable for ya’, Doctor?” He called in-between commands to the great beasts. Continue reading “Lonely Trail”
