Avidity Poem by Hannington Mumo

In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age,
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek.

Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes;
Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim,
To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes.

Verily there's a shadow where clear roads stood,
And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod;
There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout,
To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode.

Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures,
With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds;
Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours,
Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds.

The labouring voyager shall move on in truth,
To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.