Annika Krilov

Here


There were two times I believed in God,
and one time I prayed.

Once on a mountain,
once in a valley.

I believe in humanity because of skyscrapers.
I believe in humanity because of buildings cut into, and striking from the earth,
because of boats on the water, and ships in the sky.

But we haven’t manufactured God, yet.

In the valley and on the mountain I found myself - I was the only thing there -
and I wondered if maybe solitude is all that is holy.

That once I prayed,
it was when the love of my life cut loose and got lost.
I screamed his name into the wind; the wind whipped the echos away.
Also lost.

A neat job, that heartbreak.

After, I hit the road running.
I drove across America and every place I loved was solitude.

I keep traveling now and I don’t believe in god -
but I think maybe I’d like to.

I remember the mountain and the valley;
I hear the echos, waking and dreaming.
Not ghosts, but reminders.
I am not there.

My father said, before I left,
“Don’t think you’re going to find yourself.

Wherever you go,
there you are.”

Here. I am here.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for;
it might be God, but it’s probably the road.
Wherever I go,
there I’ll be.



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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!