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A
Run through the
Woods
by
Eric Martin
This
life is like a
wilderness —
A vast, consuming
emptiness,
That spreads its
borders far and
wide,
From Eden’s
gate to Lethe’s
tide —
A tangled waste,
a pathless maze
Of perilous, unfrequented
ways —
A hostile place,
a lonely quest,
Devoid of love
— of joy
— of rest
—
A few there be
who roam its bane-
Infested wilds
who ever gain
The summit of
fulfillment’s
crest.
But to my own
mind’s eye,
I’ve found
Its tract to be
a testing-ground
For human zeal
and energy
(i.e. Potentiality)
—
And
so, my eyes against
the sun
Directed, I began
to run —
Not like a sprinter,
who exerts
Adrenaline in
transient spurts,
Or like a star,
which as it falls
Collapses into
fireballs —
But rather, with
indulgent ease,
My progress, like
a zephyrous breeze
Became a tempest
by degrees.
First, at a gentle
pace, through
wealds
And wood-lots,
heaths and harvest-fields;
Then, by the outpost
which divides
Our own from foreign
countrysides,
My gait increased
to bolder strides;
Then, as the noonday
sun waxed hot,
My tread, with
each expanding
thought,
Accelerated to
a trot,
Through wooded
vales, calf-splashing
rills,
And over lush,
colossal hills;
Till finally,
as the evening
waned,
(My flesh, from
physic’s
laws unreined),
I plunged, as
from a precipice
That overhangs
a black abyss,
Into a kind of
emptiness,
Almost like death
(where everything
Is unsubstantial,
vanishing
Like smoke between
my fingertips)
—
A new-found power
to eclipse
Confining matter
raging in
My blood —
Like
nothing of this
world I sped —
Despite the throbbing
in my head,
The stinging ache
of limbs that
bled,
And burning in
my lungs and throat
—
Undaunted. When
some low bough
smote
My crown, and
plucked my hat
away,
I left the bonnet
where it lay,
Forgotten in the
shameful dust.
When some unyielding
boulder thrust
A jagged spur
into my side,
I neither winced
in pain, nor cried,
But list where
in the distance
dropped
Its vaulted fragments,
cleanly lopped.
And when some
chasm loomed beneath
My fleeting steps
like awesome death,
I hurled myself
across its depths,
And at its brink
resumed my steps.
The baking sun,
the swarming flies
—
As thick as manhood’s
miseries —
Inspired rather
than oppressed
My zealous heart
to run abreast
With that immortal
part of me —
Unfettered by
Necessity —
Mine own Potentiality
—
That only could
reflect upon
The race it had
already run
Long ere a single
step of mine
Had even crossed
the starting line.
I
stood upon that
mountain’s
crest,
That overshadowed
all the earth,
And saw an empty
wilderness
Of latent and
uncharted worth.
Its shadiest corners
were no less
Than kingdoms
— north,
south, east and
west —
Each plot like
an El Dorado lay,
Amid a haze of
ocean spray.
I could have lain
my tiniest hand
Like night’s
cloak o’er
that wealth of
land;
One finger was
enough to blot
From history’s
page, from human
thought,
The proudest exploits
of the race,
Small trophies
‘pon an
earth’s
broad face.
©
2007 by Eric Martin
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