Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.


downloadThe wrong shoes

impede my ascent

and I struggle-slip through

grass and gorse.


The keen thorned shrubs

tug on too thin clothes

and claw at barely

waxed haversack


that holds a map

blurred and limp

from mist and mizzle,

replaced now by common


sense and the trails left

by countless pilgrims driven

higher on irrigious sod.

Earth gives way to moss


and rock and ice-glass

skittering as I head

to the tribune and commune

with the open gloam.


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This entry was posted on June 2, 2018 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .
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