Losing Track

The tree lines become crooked

As I step in their direction.

I know my crimes have been lurid

But I could use some protection.

The moss hides from my boots,

It crawls away and screams.

My hair entangles with roots

As leaves hide the light beams.

I still carry on, I fight them,

Yet – the thorns gash my ankles.

The bags feel ten pounds lighter,

Still, the air bites and rankles.

The exit must be close,

I can hear the river floating nearby.

Branches hold onto my clothes,

But I push forward

With one last battle cry.

-JW