POETRY

Ever On

Withered, weathered
Stretched and feathered
with thorns,
pricked by the bark of hounds
and the bellow of horns-
he is ragged.

Straggled, struggled,
mucked and muddled
his way at times.
But ever on he pushes, bends,
falls, but staggers up again.
He marks that line:

That tracks him, takes him-
outright breaks him
of all the brass that pretends gold
and all the lies that can never hold
a single truth that matters.

Blown and bleary,
worn and weary-
well may he find himself in the end.
But of him it will be known and said:
That he did not give up
and he would not give in.

sarah stehlik
January 2015
Kigali, Rwanda

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