A poem of sorts

My daddy’s house is far away
Through the bending road,
into the darker tree line.
Deep into the brush
The hollows lay.

I push my hand through the branches,
The crackling scaring the birds,
And lift my foot over the stumps.
The satchels smack against my hip;
The weight of the books is slowing my pace.

The sun is hidden here,
Shrouded by moss covered leaves.
The smacking of branches leaves cuts,
Missing my eyes by inches.
Blood and tears are mixed while I tumble
Running madly through the day-night.
Losing my books in the mud
I crumble amidst ant piles and broken bottles.

Through the forest roof
A slit opens the sky.
A straw of light meets my eyes.
Pulling myself up,
Clutching my wounds tightly,
My feet stumble towards the east.