Pilgrim Poem

it starts out full of determination, crusading with vision and vigor a strong staff, new boots, and a good hat. a map with direction and no mud stains walking with purpose in mid-afternoon the clouds in the distance poignantly seem to illustrate some medieval tome with guilt edges to pages and sunrays the poem feels good, and the thoughts feel strong and direct, not tangential like the scribbling’s from some past dreaming’s and foot in front of foot, we cover ground dust gently, almost imperceptibly, swirls around the now broken-in boots, the stanzas march to their own steady cadence until they begin to slow, as the heat bares down more, now thickening the tongue, with a newfound thirst for words and water the mind...the mind, and it's steps, falter just a bit, as concentration is baked with aimless uncertainty, the hat feels heavy to the pilgrim, and the notion of continuing seems pocketed, in favor of some poetic shade poem's purpose muted, for just a line or two, no more, to rest beside the road of travelers lines passing by, waving or nodding a word in the pilgrim's direction as they pass and the writing looks off in the distance and down to short stanzas, covering tanned legs leaned with the effort of the pilgrimage mind circles as the hat is waved like a fan to cool the thoughts into some coalescence refreshing the whole body of work with purpose strength begins to build again as breaths slow with resolve and triumph appears as achievable the pilgrim rises again, dusts off his derriere and marches...hell, parades to a poetic end © Goode Guy 2012-01-26