We are escaping that of which we know to be reality. The breathing of a lost man, in the dead of night, cold chill in the air, as he makes his way back to civilization. The trees are crinkling with his breath as mud creeps up his legs. The left eye of the moon shines bright about the tree line, as the moon reflects off of the river. The way is now shone, and we make our way back. That is what this collection of poems is about, and what it represents...
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Poetry