image generated by author using Midjourney
Death hung in the air
that infernal year
like a low-lying fog.
*
By the time I stumbled
into a clearing
I was heading the wrong way,
*
unable to find my direction.
Unsuspecting others were
swallowed whole by the mists,
*
nevermore to be seen.
As unclear as it was then,
this remains certain:
*
neither they, nor I,
will ever be able
to retrace our steps again.
3
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About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
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