Risky, uncharted wilds, as Sawchuk says,
no sign of man, except a burnt out plane.
There is no trail, until the trail you blaze,
across a wilderness. I paraphrase
that claim of his to calm a restless brain.
Being cooped inside a suffocating maze,
confined by damaged lungs and blocked airways,
I cannot brave real heights, true wind and rain.
There is no trail, until the trail you blaze –
I’ve fire and air and puff enough to blaze –
release my spirit, soar the astral plain,
escape the coop, the suffocating-maze:
I’m circling mountain peaks, where sharp wind sprays,
and fresh-born rivers roar their rough refrain –
there is no trail, until the trail you blaze ….
Down where dense trees exhale a greenish haze,
I foot un-trodden rocks, released from pain,
outside of self – the suffocating maze.
Taking the hint that Sawchuck's claim conveys
I'm free to navigate, carve out a lane
that leads me through the suffocating maze –
there is no trail, until the trail you blaze …