running down a gravel road
"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right." - Maya Angelou
running down a gravel road
crunch crunch crunch
beneath my bumbling feet
open sky and open fields
closing in around me
must get away fly away
like the red-tailed hawk
swooping from atop a power line
the horizon recedes
with every puff of dust
I leave behind a lone trail
that will soon be washed away
by warm summer rain
pluck the little pebbles
from my shoes
smooth the rocks into cement
yet still I hear the crunch
as wounds stitch into scars
and my legs continue to ache
held captive by the knowledge
that I can never outrun myself
About the Creator
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More stories from Sarah Bruce and writers in Poets and other communities.
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Somewhere, or perhaps sometime, in some distant land or alternate plane, there exists a world that is not round. Not round at all, but indeed very flat and very limited. Its inhabitants are accustomed to its shape. In fact, they have built their lives in straight lines, clean angles, sharp corners; hardly ever a man-made circle in sight. To them, time marches on in one linear path they all must follow. One is born, one lives, and one dies. That is the natural order of things.
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