Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
Progress is a rock dislodged
on the slope above,
unconscious missile bounding down
in the grip of gravity,
gathering to it fellow rovers,
a landslide of random accident.
Seeking shelter,
we’re swept away.
Line count: 8
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 09.05.22
Prompt: Tether.
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