The wind blows cold
It shatters my bones,
And slivers of rain
Punch straight through my soul.
Our map led me wrong.
Promised a landscape
You’d not said which one.
I am lost up here,
Alone on the fell.
Ground so uncertain,
You knew me so well.
All right reserved – Alicia Fitton 2017
Picture by Alicia Fitton
If you liked this poem, read Pretending
2 thoughts on “Moorland (Betrayed)”
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