The Angler ‘a reason matters not’
through the woods
where phantoms rest
dull, dead stick like objects
brush hard against my chest,
I will not falter
I shall push forth,
searching for my alter
a calm fluid acre of water,
what lies within, matters not
small fry dart from those with wings
“metaphorically” meaning so many things,
I’ll keep guessing, eager to cast
one fine line into its past,
moments will stop
immortalised in time,
for what reason?
a reason matters not,
my hook is tied
I’ve greased my line
I’ll angle my life away
one cast at a time
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