The Deer

The old, grizzled deer runs out of the lea

Shaded woods he seeks, away from the light

Eyes filled with water he barely can see

Unknowing, uncaring but only in flight

Scourged by unfeeling that grows all around

Chest heaving, legs churning, just running on

He rages his ire with nary a sound

Outracing despair so it will be gone

He reaches the canopy blocking the sun

Resting a moment he falls to the ground

On great sharp piles of things lost or unwon

Treasures and friendships that never were found

Darkness provides him a cold, silent friend

Perhaps in stillness one day he will mend