An old dirt track slicing the forest,
leaden feet seeking a cocoon where clinging webs lurk.
A heart unknowing is blind
fleeing headlong through the mud.
Seeking escape in an unforgiving wood,
growing the inescapable where peace refuses to grow.
Damn the pain.
Curse the hurt.
Running until the exhausted heart bursts,
and still there isn’t far enough to run.
What is heard and what is seen is unthinkable,
yet each day it’s there, it’s worse, and there’s suffering.
©December 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne