change is subtle

slow most times

less often it arrives

a cataclysm of words

people, places, things,

cutting like concertina wire

as you scramble over

cut, bloodied, tired

that tipping point reached

you run

slow over the muddy fields

and far away

to a place unseen

by human eyes

pristine, unspoiled,


without the water

to wash it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016


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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing

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