The Long Slow Walk

The long slow walk,
one step at a time.
One slide of gravel, dragged.
One in breath, and out.
The tiny grey specks of cement at my feet,
flee as I creep,
forwards,
without chance of retreat.

Each heavy metal step,
in clay air.
Each ice needle slice of space
cut through.
Each path made is made forever.
The goal is far,
but inevitable.
One day I will stand there,
and once held high, will stab my rod into the soil
and declare,
this is it!
I am here!
I have made it.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.