Homeward Path

Homeward Path 11/08 Roger M. Landry Wise men say, stay out of the fray, And perhaps that is logical, and even soundly psychological. They advise, do not go my son into the dark wood; you will only come to no good. And I ask, if the road is less traveled, it will leave me baffled? The trail in the forest tall could it leave me feeling forever small? Alone, will I not even hear the sound of the stately tree’s fall? In my craven travels, shall I perhaps see the pellucid pillars of heaven seven, Or experience the depraved depths of perdition? But, what if there is no one there to tell? No singing angels, or laughing demons from hell. Shall I be weary of my iconoclastic dreams? Because, in my youth, I had magic visions of being the princely toad, Of crossing elegantly the paved road to fame. However, carrion birds now read, feed on my bloody entrails strewn along the lane. Now, I only wake up in the fevered night, no princess to soothe my stifled screams. Beaten and torn, shall I become the salacious stripper of old? That, with nagging words, expresses my vulnerable, and sagging soul. Like a lost muse, shall the tiger burning bright, in the forest of the night, Become my one and only frightful and guiding light? I can see quite far from the gritty solitude of a lofty mountain. But, would rather sit with my smiling children by a bubbling fountain, Have someone park my expensive car, Or sip beer, with friends, in a quaint neighborhood bar. Going on a shopping spree and wearing designer clothes, I think, is superior than to society loathe. To have opulent gold is better than writing poetry in poverty, wouldn’t you agree? Or, would it be better if I contemplate my fate, eternally alone, under a frigid night star, While I pluck loose strings on an out of tune guitar? They say that if you favor the glacier-blue, the flavor will get inside of you. Now that I have made enough bad choices, because of those niggling internal voices, I am eternally lost, my mind unloosing in a wilderness of my own choosing. Like a pharaoh, I know there is a divine treasure in my head, But, I work and work, feel dead, and just can’t get out of bed. The road has its own agenda, to which I know my heart must surrender, Therefore, I shall curb my shameful wrath, And trust that my soul knows its homeward path.