{"id":22225,"date":"2016-08-13T16:29:57","date_gmt":"2016-08-13T20:29:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=22225"},"modified":"2016-08-13T16:29:57","modified_gmt":"2016-08-13T20:29:57","slug":"journey-to-a-past-life-half-marathon-8","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2016\/08\/journey-to-a-past-life-half-marathon-8\/","title":{"rendered":"Journey to a Past Life (half marathon #8)"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>I closed my eyes, entering all the colors of the rainbow and drifted into thirteen.<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>I am moving at great speed through a forest. The head of a daunting black horse bobs in front of me. My hands hold its leather straps and I feel its galops between my legs. I don&#8217;t know why, but I adore this horse and fear for both of our lives. My vibrant hair flies backwards. It&#8217;s red-brown length catch the colors in the sun and melt into the shades of the surrounding trees. Pine, jade, yellow, orange, red brown leaves. I rush past branches and see the early morning sun franticly searching for me. My light chest matches the horse&#8217;s heavy gallope.My chest gallopes. Hot breath. Sweat. Wild heart inside my chest. My eyes are lost in the green. They spot the white line too late. A quick white line is drawn from the treetops down to my body below. I am struck. Stone or wood or steel or obsidian pierces through my skin, fat, and muscle. My wild heart explodes as the arrow finds its way home. I fall, blood kissing the forest ground, and the horse still gallops to thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Thirteen&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>I come back to life.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I closed my eyes, entering all the colors of the rainbow and drifted into thirteen. Thirteen&#8230; Thirteen&#8230; Thirteen&#8230; I am moving at great speed through a forest. The head of a daunting black horse bobs in front of me. My hands hold its leather straps&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":904,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[705],"class_list":["post-22225","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem","tag-prose-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22225","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/904"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22225"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22225\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22370,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22225\/revisions\/22370"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22225"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22225"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22225"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}