I have dug fire line in the middle of August
When it was so hot the plastic spoon
In my radio pouch melted
And my eyebrows were singed,
Been in smoke so rancid and strong
It would bring me to my knees
and it did it more than once.
I have heard the crack
The swoosh and thump!
of a falling tree in the middle of the night
wondering if it was for me until it fell.
I have seen half ton boulders
Roll down a hill
at forty miles an hour.
I Was hit by a small stone in the chest
It knocked th wind out of me
left I giant bruise purple and black.
I wore it like a medal
because I lived to tell about it.
I don’t know why I did these things.
Certainly not for the money
Perhaps the thrill
or the people I met.
The sense of oneness people achieve
when they need each other.
Now the fires burn in my memories
I think of that close dance
With death that I took
and never realized
What I was doing.
Maybe it was a good thing back then
that I was too shallow to think of consequences.
and strong enough to absorb them.
Author notes
-- places you've been (physical, mental, spiritual) that you want to return to or memorialize
In a list
Comments
-
very nice. thank you for entering! :-)
-
something about this one kind of hits hoes for me, and that is what i think i like about it, you did a great job on this one keep it flowing and good luck in the contest
-
"The sense of oneness people achieve
when they need each other."
- These lines make this poem great!
-
Man! Awesome...
Adding your comment:
