Maktub

Bridget Wickiser - Ecuador


December 24, 2018

Along crawls the sharp forgotten feeling
Your feet managed to seep into the dirt
Gasping for life while your mind is wheeling
Pushing papers and wanting to divert
The shattered countenance lied to your face
So it went, you packed your brown carpetbag
Loathing the constant and gradual race
And your white laces will no longer drag

You will stop, escape, release, and feel time

With new eyes and a mind full of wonder

So many seas and cities for a dime

You know now that there is grace in thunder

There are things you’re missing about the race:

It’s easy, but your not meant for that pace

Bridget Wickiser