Today’s prompt is to write a roundelay or and anti-form poem. I sort of pooped out on the rhyming bits and struggled to make it mean what I want to, but it was an interesting exercise. I need to practice more forms. The Wildest One is one of my names for the great mystery some people call God.
O Seeker, you must simply start,
and follow the road toward the sun.
No sign, no map, no guide, no chart
will tell you when your road’s begun.
You must enter the forest of your heart
to find your way to the Wildest One.
No sign or map, no guide or chart
will tell you when you have begun.
The search is inward, no science or art
can tell you when the journey’s done.
You just enter the forest of your heart
and find your way to the Wildest One.
The inner search is both science and art.
No one will tell you when the journey’s done.
In solitude, you’ll wander apart
from the villages where tales are spun.
You must enter the forest of the heart
if you seek to find the Wildest One.
In solitude, you’ll wander apart
from the shining village, where tales are spun,
but you’ll return to take up your part
when the journey’s over, the race is run.
You’ll walk through the forest of the heart,
seeking always the Wildest One.
Mockingbird Chronicles 