The beginning of a story in verse

 

My fellow poetic muselings and I are engaged in a challenge to see who can write the most poems between now and September, and recently I wrote a couple of poems that begin the story of two men, one who leaves home and one who stays.  My idea is to alternate poems, one from each of the men as they continue, one at home and one on the road. 

 Cold Stone

 

Dirt and stone beneath my feet,

clouds and mist above me,

in my ears, the sheep's high bleat.

Dear, I know you love me.

As I wander down the road

I leave you behind me,

standing in the field I hoed.

Shafts of sunlight blind me.

My way is long and dark, alone.

I won't be returning.

Will our child remember, grown,

a father's love so burning?

Yet I must this journey make

else my soul be fettered.

Your love you gave and I did take,

but it left me tethered.

Journey

Wanderer, wanderer where do you go,

all alone on the road when the wild winds blow?

Where did you come from and why did you leave,

who are the loved ones you left home to grieve?

Hunched in your cloak with your pack on your back,

bent almost double by the weather's attack,

you pass by my hovel. I stare out at you.

When will I ever bid loved ones adieu?

Held to a life of hard labor and toil,

grubbing for greens as I turn over soil,

I dream of far shores and adventures galore,

yet never will I set a foot out my door.