One Hot Summer’s Hour

I would tear through the woods
and they would in turn tear me
I still have coats and jackets
wearing the scars from brambles
and barbed wire
that I kept going
though lost once in the thick
near the Civil War crossing
point of Kelly’s Ford
Arms torn bloody by
interminable thorns
that formed
a harsh green wall
Nothing could be seen
more than four feet
in front of me in
any direction
so I paused


I listened hard
for the river
The Rappahannock
was near and if
I got there it
would lead to

Rivers always do

So I forged toward
the song of the rocks
being played by the water
The briars grasping
Every step impeded
Still I ripped free
until I found that
sweet rushing water

And a fellow fishing

Less than an eighth
of a mile from where
I started
from life to death
to life again in
the span in one
hot summer’s hour

Author: OdinsBard

Writer, author, Navy vet, musician, intermittent mystic, old soul and practicing poet

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