BAMBAMBAM SON

October 16, 2017
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Walked through a field of gold, warm sun on the back of my neck
Fingering the cold stones in my pocket
That I had picked from that little stream by the old oak
The rustling wheat pulling at my stray hairs
A northern wind gusts and balloons my shirt out, throwing leaves in the air
Like praising a god
Summiting the crest of a hill, acres upon acres of unbreaking green and yellow lay before me
Each stalk untouched and uniform like soldiers at attention
Eagles soar high above me, circling prey I haven’t noticed
Continuing along the worn out path I’m on
My feet disturbing the dirt and dust
Sending little billowing clouds up with each step
My limbs grow heavier with lactic acid, as I feel the miles catch up
All the mountains I’ve climbed over giving my knees out
Caves I’ve wriggled through cramping my back
My skin cracked and peeling from the unforgiving sun above
I want to just lie down here, gazing up at the sky watching the eagles high above me
I do, and let sleep wash over me






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