Phil Baily
Part-Time Poet
Phil Baily
Part-Time Poet
Part-Time Poet
Part-Time Poet
The chains that pull me back are broken.
My feet move freely, yet my mind stays behind.
The way forward is foggy. The way back? Clear.
What do I fear in front of me? Everything.
What do I gain from staying? Nothing.
Recalibrate my mind. Cut through the haze.
Continue the path until the end of my days....
It was supposed to be a romantic getaway, just an evening out camping with my girl. I looked forward to it for weeks, making plans and proper arrangements. We would spend a night in a tent in the middle of the woods, just the two of us.
As we drove out to the campground, Beth kept checking the weather on her phone.
“Looks like there’s going to be quite a storm,” she sighed. “Should we just t...