The Summer Stand

[FOREWORD: Now this poem is as vague and half-baked as they get. I know I've lost all my touch and skill, but I am an artist who refuses to believe that he's through his prime. Bear with my put-offing flamboyance, if its possible. And as an afterthought, I'd just like to declare, all the poems I have ever written to date have the same basic message, or the proverbial 'essence'. Ahem, then...]

As I traverse down so far and wide,
To this rickety path my steps do abide,
Meanwhile the unrelenting, summer sun-flair,
Blazes and roasts down my jet black hair.

I have had an option to be airlifted,
I could have never rather, taken up the walk.
But what I am is not what I brood,
instead I am what I decide to do.

Sure, the going I strive is not exactly clean,
And my gait itself is unsure of itself,
At least I do, I make a path,
And not languish like my fair peers.

It's an impulsive exploit in the sun,
blaring red, anguishing, ablaze, the sun.
And while my friends wait for the hoot,
I take off, but, in the wrong direction.

The pearls of my ardency do,
upon my droopy eyelids fall.
But have I complained, oh never,
I walk and walk into oblivion.

I know the path is full of thorns,
It might be that I end up cold,
On this infernal day the sun,
embellishes my hike more than it hurts.