Camino

So while the days move slowly
And the sun had it´s way
crossing the sky
I forgot
Like the rest of us
Why I live here
I did not enjoy
The purple morning
Or the white daylight
Nor did I see the different colours of the trees
Just busy doing things
That makes no difference or anyone happy
God punished me
With the inability to do any progress
Now I am a refugee on the camino
Looking for shelter and purpose

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About

I am who I was when I wrote this text but I do not know if I exist now. I am from Scandinavia where the arctic starts

Tagged with: , , , , ,
Posted in #blogg100, 2017, Black, Easter, metamorphosis, Poem, Poetry

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