Cursed with the need to run,
I am a faun in the winter wood
Galloping away from the roads
Off to nowhere.
The blood has drained from my lips
To give my tattered heart
A fighting chance.
I am jagged on the inside.
Scrapes and splinters
From where I’ve been scooped out.
Minor, spiraling melodies
Wind their way in.
They seep into the cracks
And tug me forward,
Away from the roads,
Into the woods where I can sleep
In soft, snowy pastures.
I’ll use the brittle, black branches
As splints for these battered young bones.
I’ll crush berries on my lips,
And maybe when I emerge from the tree line,
Maybe when I can afford to be careless
With my tatters again,
Maybe when I step back onto the road once more,
I’ll be beautiful.
Photograph by LeeroyHire An Editor