My wheels were always a trusted friend,
but upon this degree of speed and spin,
I felt the wobble upon the road,
a countless amount of times I've rode!
At this moment, I looked around,
for the best place to strike the ground,
and in that instant, beneath my feet,
my board no more, only cracked concrete,
within the silence, I heard my mom,
“Don’t leave without your helmet on,”
with nothing soft to break my fall,
the ground and I began to brawl,
It ripped my clothes, it ripped my skin,
until my body seized to spin,
inside my head, my world still spun,
surely, my ragdoll body was done,
but how could I end my day on a spill?
so I scooped up my board
and climbed up Stoney Hill.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
A hidden path, weaves into the woods
dividing along curves, serpent-like
warping and contorting life.
The wind shoots,
bouncing along the boundaries,
whipping and bending limbs.
The wild chirps,
broken growls and crunching
creeps into narrow edges.
The light fades,
seeping into the cracks
as it dips down under the canopy.
The ground is worn
with persistent life,
flattened and tired.
A known path, cuts into the woods,
bleeding along turns, serpent-like
warping and contorting life.
The wind swirls,
carrying decaying air
piling and packing into corners.
The wild whimpers,
unheard and tampered,
drowned out and forgotten.
The light drops,
reflecting and jumping,
lowering under the frames.
The ground is new,
but known, covering
and layering tried life.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC