To stay on the straight and narrow is holy,
but boy is it ever lonely.
We’re cautioned by the erring
to tread the righteous road,
bending as it bends,
through mountains steep or valleys deep,
through nature’s glowing calm and somber turbulence.
Rest assured, they say,
we’ll be triumphant in the end,
each righteous rover having glimpsed the holy grail.
Thus, despite the risks of meeting our mortal end,
they say we must spurn the feral sod’s allure.
Yes, spurn it …
and forge along to glory,
marching instinctively like hallowed hounds.
They’ve come to this conviction after gruelling fights with fortune …
fights which, in a flash, authored the most awful scars …
but scars worn like letters by the learned man,
effortlessly scoring his inner and outer dimensions.
So though the going is lonely,
they say it’s crucial to keep faith,
for burrs and bites alone await deviates.
But what is this behind the iris …
this vacancy of which they fail to tell?
It might annul their passionate warnings like a hasty vow
and might also indicate, that to err isn’t shameful;
the only misstep being regret.
Why, behind those bleary eyes,
… yes, a little closer look …
… You’ll see …
No temples of regret!