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A walk

The grey cold of winter rain lashes face and hands and me. Raven clouds dark as my damaged thoughts lie overhead, threatening, sinister. Muddy paths leading to muddy places through trees scoured clean by loathsome storms. Past verdant leaves indifferently slaughtered scud across my shadowed dreary view. Hearing no-one, seeing no-one and being no-one trudging onward, slipping, stumbling, sliding, swearing. My mood as black as longest night companion to my wary winter woodland wander. Sombre thoughts of death unfettered rise unbidden to my mind. I must escape this path, this wood, this life or stay forever snared in this leafless, lifeless grove. I reach the edge of brooding breathless copse driven to the open fields of freedom before me. And still the grey cold of winter rain lashes face and hands and me. 07/02/2017
Published inEscapeMemoryPoemWinter

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