In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age,
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek.
Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes;
Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim,
To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes.
Verily there’s a shadow where clear roads stood,
And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod;
There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout,
To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode.
Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures,
With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds;
Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours,
Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds.
The labouring voyager shall move on in truth,
To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.
Categories:
ruings, allegory, character, christian, courage,
Form: Epic
How would it feel having no single woe to bear,
In that sooty heart oft stung by ceaseless tear?
Wouldn't the sobs-accustomed soul court pain,
To save those melancholic rhythms in its stain?
It's abnormal for usually teary eyes not to cry,
For that erstwhile crestfallen spirit not to sulk.
Used to endless gall it's sickly to feel brighter,
It's a health disorder to let go of that acid bulk.
And can this be the preponderant reason fair,
Fate gives each mortal breast its itching care?
Could earth's being all-free from fettering cries
Birth taboo alien studs obnoxious to the skies?
I'd wish to pass life's mean hour in gayest glee,
But if Wiser Lot considers it far much saintlier
To lead a gloomy existence by ruings checked,
Thus rightly eschewed by oily mirths let me be.
There's huge heroism in every iron dragon slain;
None in safest paths unmarred by battle's stain.
Categories:
ruings, allegory, angst, anxiety, betrayal,
Form: Didactic