wilderness survival

all this is
is paths,
and all we have
is the company of strangers.

and it's so easy for you
to grab a hand
like it's nothing
but
a piece of wood
for the fire.

your hand is a match.

it's so scenic
at the head of the path,
nothing but the face of god
in sunsets, and
the rocks just seem to glow.

everything is sucked in by the eyes
of a beautiful bloom.

and on we go,
further,

until there are clouds
charging like horses in war.
the storm feels like it'll never
end,
and you believe it.

if you make a left,
over that rickety bridge,
you can start on a different path,
but you have to promise
to set the bridge on fire
at the end
of the cross,

and you do.
that bridge only has the strengh to hold
one more.

you take it.
you take the backpack
with the supplies
and left us there
with nothing
but the bruises
of thunder and lightning.

you even had the strengh
to not look back
because
a new stranger
is always waiting for you.

but we survived.

we survived
knowing that storms
eventually ends.

we aren't the only ones.