The Vow

…

I woke this morning with purpose and an outline.
I went back to bed to dream and lie upon it.
I woke again the self-same questions plagued me so,
I sat upon the ground with wrinkled outline and made up sonnets.

Barefoot I rose still, just how would I proceed?
The day wound on, the walking sun set low behind the hill.
I fashioned a spoon from wood, and ate the day gone by,
around the tender carvings in my tomb.

I struck a match and lit the little hovel there,
imparting to the fire what lay around the stack.
And then by daybreak returned the sleep I lacked
smelling strong of pine and campfires and thoughts of never turning back.

The birds flew south above my head and a chill came on
the earth was not yet cool to permafrost
the sinking imprint of my body there among needles
was sure the kindest rest I never lost.

I lay my wadded purpose next to spoon and outline
I walked out mid-afternoon among the pines.
The fuel for doubt and warmth is little consolation there
when the meaning less of life prints paper ties.

I ran into the warmth released in great migration,
but pondered still on what I'd left behind.
Some purpose driven caffeine messiah complex maybe,
and the smiling edges on my burning list
breathing one last time!

To be enough to be the gift, Vagabond, "Embody good!"
and for this good for life it's this just this to know now.
What purpose little purpose here comes bowing knee to joy,
and rising up to greet should strife oppose
this immortal vow.

jPayne 29.1.2018
…