Jungles

When you’re in the jungle,

chopping with a machete

at the brush and vines,

surrounded by a green and brown mess,

and you can barely see

your nose in front of your face,

let alone an opening, a clearing

where there might even be someone

waiting for you,

someone who chopped through

their own jungle to get there,

someone waiting

to chop together,

you just keep chopping and chopping,

not sure if that clearing is a day away,

weeks, months, years,

or if you’ll drop dead alone

chopping this mess,

left for the ants to feast on.