I Even Hate The Ground You Walk On Poem by Christopher McInnes

You know, sometimes I hate you:
I even hate the ground you walk on.
I used my woodcraft (carved from a lifetime of hard knocks)
to find a special stick in the disenchanted forest
with which I could beat the path you trod-
beat it, mash it up, disturb the gravel;
then I squashed those special berries on it
(the bitter heart-shaped ones) , stamping them into the stony surface
until the whole road looked like a gory bloodbath-
as if a tragic creature with an open wound, tracked relentlessly
by its own demons, had limped along there, looking for a place to die.
Still, in retrospect, the end result was not entirely desperate:
the glistening red effect does look quite romantic in the moonlight,
almost like a poem, squeezing sunbeams from the darkest night.