Racing the Bull Across the Page
Some write, some live; Hemingway did both
Published in
Aug 30, 2024
Lonely desire like a blank page,
for he was never truly free.
Not like the bull or the elk
or soldier’s last decree.
He was an aura borealis,
longing for a hero in his bed.
God's Lighting in Spring.
Undead with a single honest
sentence. A country
within himself.
A rebel without belief.
A golden field
scythed bare.
The sun is dying
but still knows
what you cried for
alone in your bed,
a wish still on your lips
too afraid if spoken then
the magic would leave
and never return.
© Bradley J Nordell 2024
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