• Jason Huffadine

Ps.25 I catch your breath

Tangled in this forest of shame. Snared in the hunters trap I laid. Limping, lost, and wrecked by my own self. I trusted once. I turned my gaze to the trumpet sound of their victory. Deafened myself as I drew too near to feel vibrations of their hope. There was no hope. Just voluminous hate sound. And I am deafened to silence. With just ringing in my ears. Whistle of pain that courses to my heart. If a tree fell I wouldn’t hear. I wonder am I here at all. Branches crash around to my destruction, covering paths once known. I have wandered so long; remembering from where I came falls too. To where I journeyed before distraction is gone? You will not forget me. But even that has nearly slipped from mind as I slip. Trip. Stumble. Fall. I cannot hear your voice. I cannot remember your name. The forest closes in around as darkness saturates the image of my hope. Your face falls blackened. This day; was mine, is finished. This land was mine. I think. I cannot tell.Your promise fades in my recall, I turn alone. Alone, I hear a footstep. The sound becomes an army of repetition steps. The circles of my wandering is joined in footsteps and the mutterings of angry men. The fierce sound surrounds me. I stand caught. Hope strangled from my breath.

I gasp one final time.

I catch a breath … of possibility.

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