"... begins to cut so deep you wish
that you would crack..."
The horse fell on the range…
I kicked him once or twice, just to make a point,
echoes you can’t arrange......
the jackknife of the past
begins to cut so deep you wish
that you would crack…
mistakes that won’t retract.
You can’t…
retreat…
you cannot run and hide.
History…
repeats…
like the day that no one died.
An oil-spill lays to waste …
I splashed around in it, 'cause it’s what I deserve,
voices so ripe they taste......
the bloodstains of the past
which flow so freely that you wish
that you could fly…
effects that never lie.
You can’t…
escape…
you cannot turn the tide.
Future…
reshaped…
like the day that no one died.
Original Copyright © 2007 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written September 2007
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.