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
Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2012
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