Death March

Today I’m delighted to host a poem by fellow Meltham (and Holmfirth) writer Jan Huntley.

Death March

A life of cruelty and lies  lay waste behind.
Before the road turns to ruts and rubble. 
We are bound and bleed, starved and blind.
We head to a place of no good; just struggle and trouble.

Tripped by potholes worn deep and hollow.
Captives trip, falter fall and stumble.
Above the path steep , air rare, our breath shallow.
like the past our courage begins to crumble.  

Wolf-eyes scan, glitter, hungry and yellow
Hear now how close the wail of the wolf,
With knife’s-sharp yap summons shadows to follow.
Moonshine reveals us too close to the gulf .

Wary, the eyes of the walking dead,
for wherever another’s foot is placed,
one of us stumbled  while one steps ahead.
There’s  no way back for our tracks to retrace.

The pack turns as one and briefly makes
a sideways glance  – that’s all it takes.
Then disappears at the top of the climb
Would we vanish too or be saved just in time?

_{pic: Eric Welby. Licensed under https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/}