Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Destination - A Poem
















Destination

There is nothing here but snow.
For miles the white against the grey sky,
only an occasional spire of black bark--
spine of a bush,
no trees will grow.

I am making my way,
boots heavy with the distance,
my face a burning beacon against the wind.
Dark line of the horizon
just out of reach.

I know where I am going.
I've all the time in the world
to get there.

I've prepared.
See? I have only knives in my basket.



*
Poem completed 2/2014

3 comments:

crudedoodle.com said...

Yours is the only poetry that I've ever enjoyed.

bean said...

Aw...thank you. :)

Jay's Shadow said...

I agree with crudedoodle. I don't get into poetry that much, most times I just don't get it (I'm just stupid that way).

But some of your stuff just grabs me, and sometimes I can relate.