Saturday, February 18, 2012

There Will Be Blood

what is the optimum time?
the window we fly through

for rockets, it's a break in the weather
for runners, it's just as the gun sounds
and still, rockets explode
while most runners fail

ever walk through a woods, and
run out of trail?
nothing but thorns, bristle and branch

we try to detour, go around
but that's when the compass spins crazy
it's when we get lost
and our passage is waylayed

I've set my watch, checked the barometer
letting the seconds pass into days
and the days into gray whiskers

I've studied the terrain
charted a course
but storms fell trees overnight
and thorn bushes creep insidiously

my time has never come
my wilderness trail knows
neither groom nor marker, and
my whiskers have gone gray

the day grows long
and still the rain falls heavy
my tent is dry, sleeping bag warm
but i need to move on
now knowing
shelter is a trap, not a home

i cast my watch to the river
my face, to the blistering hail
whether by crazy mad dash
through black grabbing thicket
or desperate crawl over rock

i must move on
make my way without detour
smash the window i can't open
leaving my fear in the tent
where it belongs

they say
timing is everything
but still
rockets explode and runners fail

apprehension is the ghost
of past failure
death, the ghost's feast
i glance to my wind-blown walls
i step into the wilderness, knowing
for certain
there will be blood

but isn't blood
the proof of life?