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Wander
Crisp leaves crunch and shred apart under the boot.
The birds perform a series of tuneful cheeps.
Hundreds of dark pillars tower above, shadowing the blood-soaked trail.
The wounded warrior wanders, seeking emancipation.
I still didn’t know if I was strong enough,
turning life into death in an instant sounded so crude.
It sounded barbaric,
but I continued on.
Meticulously searching,
the bright blue of the sky began to transform into a dull gray.
Whether it’s us or the tenacious stag who tires first,
we knew that our chase was coming to an end.
We were presented with a pool of crimson surrounding our feet,
but there was no prey.
He got away,
and we trudged back to the car, empty-handed.
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This piece is A submission to the Rachel Carson Intergenerational Sense of wild competition. This poem follows me and my father as we pursue a deer in the forest.