Turning,
Different ways,
Random directions.
He hears them close,
The dogs, the shadow men.
He is fighting,
For life.
A gnarled root,
And he stumbles.
Falling into the earth,
That soft blanket.
Trying to get up,
The sands of life,
Draining away.
And then behold,
The Shining Ones.
He is taken, saved,
Immortalised.
He has survived,
If only,
To die another day.
Copyright © - Duncan N. Cunningham - June 1997