Pilgrim (Iii) Poem by David James

Pilgrim (Iii)

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'Thine quarterstaff for a camel! '
The pilgrim fumed, in a far away land
upon vast dunes of sand;
whence water hitherto is ort but found
within it's golden ground.
Barefoot he cursed, the scorching desert earth,
as hot as fiery hearth.

Alas Death's lingering fate no longer
could the pilgrim bare to take.
In fluster he tried to muster the will
to un-fasten the rope which choked
his thirsty throat. The Infernal maud
suffocated the poor pilgrim who was
all but beat by suns appalling heat.

Tormented by vultures high
the pilgrims end was nigh.
He ought be a feast for crows
as they peck his sandy bones.

'No more! '

The poor, poor pilgrim cried;
tightly shutting his weary eyes.

The pilgrim continued to trudge through beauty's
mindscape, he saw a light, brighter than white
with fields of ember green; fore nowt like it
had the pilgrim ever seen. Thus pilgrim
drove his spirit deep to fight the deathly tide,
he could ill afford to lose his faith afore
deaths fatal embrace.

As the pilgrim shook his fist,
he caught attention of elemental wisp.
With sandy hiss it did insist
that he make a solemn wish.
Alas the Pilgrim knew
his faith was all but through,
no longer pure of spirit,
the bitterness within him grew.

'Hark! Thou mischief maker, Damned soul taker
for thine plight for the sepulchers hallowed
grounds knows no bounds.'

The pilgrims soul the wisp did take as payment
for his sake. With thunderclaps from blackened sky
the sorry deed was done. What lay afore
the pilgrim came at shocked accost,
for beauty's oasis he did see;
which sparkled a bright white light
with fields of ember green.

The new found rain caused the pilgrim nought but pain;
the refreshing water of life hath goaded
bitter sweet strife to twist irony's knife.

The heavens above hath opened up;
Gods of old doth weep. For one of their flock
whom was nought but lost at such cruelties
fated cost. The Pilgrim scowled at wisp
up high for he hath been caught awry.
The wisp returned the pilgrims stare
it's haughtiness filled with caper and jeer.

'Your hateful resent, O, nay do I care!
As oasis was always there! For lil' ol'
I did nay deceive, our contract was but fair! '

Monday, December 24, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: Fantasy
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
An excerpt from 'Lure of the sepulcher' Poetry by David James Crapper.
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