When words go South
who knows how they'll speak.

They could speak the wrath of hobo nation. Run straight toward bullets. Undaunted.

Who knows true conquest?

Long tracks uphill
will test your character.

The Peace speech given by the wounded warrior that erupts with honesty from a hopeless foxhole.

The spinning brodies on your asphalt,
fire digs in
won't let go.

The stain of beauty that marked your eyes with halo Shine.

The cross every human bears
that has to rise with nails still there.

Too immense to comprehend.

You packed your bags
Headed South
To find yourself

Came back
brooding silence

Caress the worst
shine the best

I could not capture you on paper, one day, I only hope.

Redwood wind in my face.
The lost words hunting through a quiet hush in the forest thrush of your secret quest.

Pushing down walls
******* bear traps
escaping executions by the final wave of a merciless hand
ruling your mind with cold Iron.

No one escapes bits of heavy shrapnel, still smoking in the veins like a ghostly Dragon
who speaks from nowhere.

She turned South down the wrong road,
Was Found half naked in a cold ditch
tattered dress
once black
now red.

Barely alive.
She miraculously escaped
savage hands, ran 20 miles through thorns and razor
barely remembers anything.

Her words sprinted South
became that freezing stare
that is not human.

When words go South who knows how long it will take to speak?

Maybe never again.