Here is my first shot a new style of poetry. A bit more narrative.
You keep finding the scraps of the person you once were.
Angry. Bitter. Lonesome. Reliant.
You needed a Robin Hood in a forest that has no ends.
And so you waited.
And waited some more.
To pass the time, you began to write notes to yourself.
“On self-rambling..” “Oh such self thoughts.”
I am here and thus I shall stand.
But the longer you stay somewhere, the smaller the trees become.
The paths trace again and you long for a new route.
You are impatient and learn, painfully albeit, that you need to become the hero.
The Robin Hood. The Joan. The Wendy. The Peter. The David Bowie riding out in style. So you stand up and brush your knees.
If you squint hard enough, you can locate Polaris pretty decent.
That’s a good start.
And so you begin to journey thinking you already knew everything because why travel when you can wait.
Along the way, you meet visitors and they teach you.
And you begin to listen…
I was intelligent?
What fools we let ourselves become.
Who ever had me to believe that I had all the answers?
Please Friar, teach me more.
For I am simply a child, with a heart of gold (that probably needs a good shine).
And so you learn. Be wise. Be foolish. Be bold. Be kind.
And so you try. Not all of them work. Sometimes you are the bad guy, but we can’t always be Cinderella in a world of Auroras. Oh well.
The darkness. The loneliness. The bitterness you had once, when waiting, for anything, a meager signal. They all start to change.
It’s like training for the boxing ring.
Day one is rather hard. Bruises in glorious places. Everything aches for days.
Because you know there is so much to be done.
But the years pass. And its no longer, can you modify this for me, I need help.
It’s: give me something harder because I’m better than that.
My fury is more controlled and better than it ever was.
And you do things you couldn’t imagine before.
Because you are training. You are learning. And for gods sake, please remember.
Always be patient, but never wait for anyone ever again.
Because you are your own Robin Hood.
You think the weak wait forever? The broken and the bruised, let themselves be pushed around till they are nothing.
That’s for losers. You are far too radiant for that.
The forest looks like it might be getting thinner.
Is that light I see?
What was all that anger before?
You are no longer a child. Grow up.
And so you do.
And yet, here you stand. Arms stronger. Mind bolder. And thoughts more attuned to the visitors you have met along your journey.
You are not done yet. Training only really just begun.
But look at those old scrapes.
They are feeble to the tapestries’ you are creating now.