Last Odyssey
A poem for the lone penguin leaving the flock...
This place is no longerfor me. Walk. Must walk.Walk ’til me and Morningstarare one. Turn my backon the east—brothers, sisters,uncles, aunts—the wholeshuffling tribe walking the samethoughtless circles againand again, never morethan a hundred stepsfrom fishing shores slippinginto ice-blue underworld.Some say I’ve gone mad,leaving the huddleof warm bodies in a polarblizzard slicing slantwaysat the coat of many layerswe dreamed out of storms.Some call me terminallydepressed. Others, that I wasalways an oddball—lostin some outer orbit, facepushing into the gale.Some just don’t care.I wonder now if I do anymore,as each step eases the paththat pulls me towardthe mountains—a kingdomsharp with ice and rockthat suddenly calls and calls,and all I can do is follow,follow my feet, let fool’s silverof snow dazzle my eyes,numb my heart, swim awaymy fear, melt me into whiteas it walks ahead—ever,ever in the distance.©2026 Sean Arthur Joyce
