Wilderness
I'm too stubborn to give up, even when I want to
Just like you, I walk alone through the desert
For 3 or 7 or 40 (or some other holy number)
Days and nights and years
Whether I am doomed to wander or destined to journey
Whether I volunteered or not to be tempted by the devil
Whether or not I refuse him
(Whether or not I regret it)
The scorching sand on bare feet
Blisters, cracked nails, split heels at the fault lines
I have seen the mocking illusion of water
But know better now than to drink it
I have only my thirst
One stumbling step in front of another
Hoping that something remains imprinted in the sand
Some trace for others to know where to step on their own journey
Through the same desert
About the Creator
C. Carlson
Writing to get better. Learning to make mistakes. Hoping for the best.
Not a fan of geese.
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If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
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