by john clare
I was not wanting on this journey into exile
Impudent men packed the safari boxes and set out
Tracing torn paths on maps rolled long ago
Thinking wiser ones than them hid something
worth leaving.
And so we endured the hardships
of following forbidden maps.
Our party split at the foot of the sacred hill,
most of the burden bearers seeing
the skulls upon the stakes
Others the golden trinkets adorning the bones.
Way too far along to say I told you so,
I pick up the abandoned burdens
and journey on
Too close to the X to turn back now.
And to what?
The reef holding our sunken schooner?
The drums from cannibal councils
hungering for flesh?
The lot is cast with this gold lustered crew.
What more can a mute coward do?
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