Last Walk Poem by J.M. Nixon

Last Walk



I douse my withered feet.
The curling skin crackles.
A torching pain boxes the body.
The salve does not relieve.
Nor beseeching curses nor rosary beads.
Yellowy hooves worn and raw.
They have tread long, painful roads.
The final journey nears.

J.M. Nixon
Sunday, September 13, 2009
poem poems journey
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Poems By J.M. Nixon
The Fairground
The Suitcase
The Feeding
Last Walk
Broken
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