I wrote this rondeau for an online poetry course circa age 20. Like many of my poems at that time, it was a protest against realistic choices that I felt would strand me in a realistic life (aka my writing career reduced to a hobby). I’m sure most artists — or even most people who set high goals — can relate.
Whole life long no time to fake.
Shoes hit rungs, loud, dull whacks,
Footpath confined as railway tracks,
Straight, rigid walk ’til feet awake.
Along twisting path the patterns fail,
Life’s lost and trying to find the trail.
No turning back, there’s just ahead.
Feet find the path they fear and want,
Up mountainside to high peak’s taunt:
“Only weaklings ride the train!”
I climb in spite of risk and strain,
For safe aground, potential haunt—
One journey’s all.