Sacre
Stings of sharp coldness
and side aches were the last
of her worries
Her broken toes straggled uselessy
Branch after twigs clawed aboust her
Sharp rocks and stickers no longer
made a difference
She ran no matter what
Blood rushing from her head
made her delusional
Her head was bleeding
She felt as she was running
in circles
Dark as midnight
She was blind running for her life
She heard a sharp whoosh
Felt the impact
Her bloody head betrayed
by her executioner fell to
the use less ground
as she
Copyright © April Ladawn Belin | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment