decent

Folder: 
bridging poems

 

"Decent"

Not every path

asks for triumph.

Some just want your steady feet.

 

The ridge ahead

is nothing dramatic—

a rise, a dip, a bit of scrub.

 

Still, I pause.

Not for grandeur,

but for the small relief of breath.

 

Halfway along,

I realise the view is ordinary

in a way that feels earned.

 

At the far fence,

I rest a hand on the post,

its grain warm from the day.

 

It offers no lesson.

No sign.

Just a place to stop.

 

And somehow,

that’s plenty.

 

 

 

 

 

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