Running and running,
through fresh cut grass,
He could hardly breath, just gasp
Feeling the deep crescendo of his heart
Not knowing where to go,
Searching for something,
A new start.
Frantically looking behind him,
Through tear stained eyes,
And what could he see?
The ghost of a man
A man he never wanted to be,
Although just a figment of his imagination,
It was as real as the ground beneath him,
He needed an out,
He needed to be free,
Far from that man he would not let himself be.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Running and running,
through fresh cut grass,
He could hardly breath, just gasp
Feeling the deep crescendo of his heart
Not knowing where to go,
Searching for something,
A new start.
Frantically looking behind him,
Through tear stained eyes,
And what could he see?
The ghost of a man
A man he never wanted to be,
Although just a figment of his imagination,
It was as real as the ground beneath him,
He needed an out,
He needed to be free,
Far from that man he would not let himself be.
Written very shortly after reading the short story "Feathers" by Raymond Carver :)
