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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Free Ranger
Don’t lead me through the forest tangle,
Lessoned in your blustery wake.
I must define my own sweet angle,
Cutting a tailored trail for my sake.
Have you nurtured instinct’s sense
To set a course for Truth’s pure source?
Or have you bought for paltry pence
Invalid maps, false-drawn by force?
Your charter up, I’d be astrand
Amid high wooded oceans of ignorance,
Never to tend the seeds sown on my land
With a freshwater draught of experience.
’Round ridge rock-sharp and dire wide marshy sink,
Must I finally reach where my ford meets the flow.
At the last lake’s still brink, I’ll drop and drink
And convey its clear cool - down a path I’ll alone know.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2004. All Rights Reserved.
