Endlessly slashing, thick vines
block us at every turn. We
trudge remorselessly on through
the dark brooding jungle.

Beads of sweat pour down our
faces on to our sodden shirts
as we continue to slash our
way through the undergrowth,
our anxious thoughts and
the mocking birds taunts.

Drunk with tiredness, we’re
not even sure why we continue.
Overhead the multicoloured birds
laughingly harangue us with their
twisted words. “You’ll never make
it”, “you’re having a
laugh”, “the end is nigh”.

Afternoon Walk

With each plodding foot against
the gravel I strain to hear
your voice.
Can I hear your heartbeat
over this slow, rhythmic,
crushing sound?
Perhaps you’re in the wind,
rustling high in the trees?
The rugged, rusting, yellow digger
stands for progress.
Its windscreen
is now cracked.
Some local youths perhaps.
What is progress anyway?
And now I’m reminded
that all you want
is a willing heart and a
life completely surrendered
to your will.
I make my way home.