Wildlife.
The beauty of life
And the weaves of ropes left
From adventurers who always leave there mark.
The beauty of travelling-
In teams- making a game.
Survival.
But it's not survival, its what is seen a survival.
In a woodland (a circle) left empty after the fun.
Still, there are cuttings of rope from what was
Once a tool of survival.
Now a ragged loose end. Destiny to die.
Survival is not fun anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoesíaPoetry by James Matthews includes all his best poems plus special previews of his new works
