The rebel group met
Under the dark secrecy of night
They'd won their first battles
But now they were in flight
Peering through branches
"Don't follow, don't follow"
Night was fully upon them
And without sanctuary -
they had to lie low
To run now would be suicide
But to sleep would be the end
But they would rather die
Than live in confinement again
Finally they see the pale-yellow dawn
The light signals the time to start walking
Which felt sluggish and slow
Too tired to hurry even though
the slow pace caused anxiety
And they refused hopeful thoughts
Knowing their chances were slim
For getting out of this alive
And the future looked dim
But they kept on going
There was no choice of slowing
They would no longer follow
Even if this leading led to death
Even if they did not know where to go
They would keep going until their last breaths
For there had been a time when they did follow
And those times were not good memories
And if they were captured now
They'd be paraded down those now
war-torn streets
And that's where they would finally leave them behind
With no guilt of abandoning them to
Their own special kind of slavery
Their only company their own tortured minds
YOU ARE READING
Poems (collection 1.0)
Poetryplease don't read this (i laugh here, but i'm not joking). this is a relic. consider this the museum of my progression in writing. you can find the better (marginally) stuff from this one in "Poems (collection 2.0)". Thoughtful, often sad, and angr...
