Wilds

Dear Chris McCandless,

He clings onto the hope,

the dream,

like a child playing with a balloon on a windy day.

His grip

Ferocious

unbidden,

is the kind of stronghold that

grows like moss on

the slipping side of a waterfall.

The rocks

gently being worn thin

by the gushing,

tumultuous river running by.

The roar is gives echos through the valley

as though it were trying to take back

the pains it took to get here.

The green encompases

the last surface of freeland,

eeking out its meager belonging

there surrounded by the unforgiving perils,

he finds quills of porcupine carving the night sky.

Each star the top of a long quill.

And armadillos curl their armour around soft bellies

the moon becoming a sun for these drifters.

He is wild Alaskan Salmon.

diving into the water head on,

trying to see what wonder lie hidden past the roaring mountain.

The dreams that were wishes are the truth in the promised land,

no matter the obstacles,

for the young and

courageous will

find a way

as they are still free

from the strings of society.