PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I look forward to my wandering days,
to my walking staff and my beggar’s bowl,
my ragged cotton robe and sandals,
sun on my shoulders, wind at my back.

I’ll be free of the mindless rushing crowd,
free of guilt and melancholy,
free to laugh and sing out loud,
free of the past and its endless if-only.

I harbor no delusions.
It will not be a parade
of sunshine and birdsong.
There will be more sharp stones
than sweet clover underfoot.

Yea, hunger will be my cruel companion,
stalking me as I walk down the long roads.
The cold winds will whip my gaunt frame
and snow will lash my eyes and cheeks. 

I will grow thin and my steps will stagger
until I find warmth and sustenance 
at the door of a caring stranger.

I do not fear the vile highwayman.
My staff is more than a stick to lean on.
I will wield it with grace and skill,
to parry the blows of cowardly evil
and strike back boldly at my enemies.

Ah, the poetry I will fashion,
the songs I shall sing, 
for I will grow wise beyond measure,
having fathomed the mysteries of life
and stared down the demons of death
and the heartbreak of loneliness
on the dusty, windswept way,
where the goal is no goal anymore

and the only end in sight
is the kindness of others
to fill my wooden bowl
each day at dusk,

and a dark ravine, out of the wind,
with only my dreams to cover me
and the mournful wail of the night dogs
to haunt my fitful sleep.

Yea, I will appear haggard and disheveled.
You will turn from me in disgust
as I shamble before your stately house.
But I will not surrender my pride.
None shall tarnish nor diminish it.

For I would rather die 
alone and unknown on a nameless road
than wither away in shame and neglect
surrounded by mute strangers 
in an antiseptic room
in the ward of oblivion
until the dreary monotone
of the rocking chair 
is stilled
forever.