When Troubadours were Bolder [poem]

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Seeking ways to free myself from limitations,
I’ve considered all the options still available,
now that this zeal within me has awoken.
& it’s clear that if it cannot be accomplished
through some means which, in a basic sense,
could be described as “physical” (for it’s only
in the fleshly sense that limitations can apply)
then I must think beyond the flesh to find the
things I need — such as a home which doesn’t
crumble or decay (Oh, and some wings to fly!)

This body’s gone as far as it can go this time
& now I find that what I true desire cannot be
found within the confines of this fallen world.
So, folding up my neckerchief with just a book
and stones (no need to take the mobile phone
for I intend in future to communicate in any
way I can without a phone in hand) I tied it on
a wooden stick and threw it on my shoulder,
as in the days when troubadours were bolder.

Thus, having steeled my soul to limp upon a
dim-lit pathway feet had never walked before,
I staggered out into the void which lay beyond
the vortex at the end of time and found that
everything consisting of solidity was just a joke
that held itself together with atomic rope and
only in my simple mind did poems rhyme and
in the ersatz end there was no book, no stones,
no neckerchief; for everything was intertwined.

© Alan Morrison, 2017

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