Routes New

My shoes long worn out now got torn, Within it rough, rude pebbles meet; Pricking, poking in some stern tone Knit-bit of my venturing feet … Needle-like long pin-pointed thorns, Pierced my now-dirty, ripped outfit; Prodding every nerve, muscle, bones, Thus tempting to stop my pursuit… Horrifying rough rocky grills, Frightening densely dim forests; Mystery-like messy mole-hills, Terrifying combs of hornets... Sitting there leisurely, surely, I tried removing one by one; I could not do so much, purely, It needed works perfectly done... Thus, when I completed my course, My friends, neighbors, even others; Ignored me like some evil force, Or like no one's dog, none bothers... 'Why such futile works he digs up? Is his life not well endowed too? When he needs to humbly give up, Why does he cling to whims new?' Let the world possess its outlook, Let it move in its trodden routes; Its grim conducts I do unhook, I define the routes of my roots… 03 June 2021 (Vowel a omitted) Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Emile Pinet