A clamor arises, gasping for air.
A fledging murmur, pleading and bare.
The world awaits, alive and free.
Calling as greeting, It’s bleating at me.
Where from it comes, I do not know.
For a spirited seed it is, heavenly sown.
The call of the wild, Jack London’s phrase.
For man just as beast, refined though it pray.
What is out there for me, but dust and pain.
A fool I leave, this world we made.
In the overgrowth, I breath in new life.
For every being, is supple and ripe.
The luxuries call, from life sublime.
I at times long, for pleasures so fine.
But know inside, my decision is true.
All old I miss, is attention so strewn.
If feeling untrammeled, is the rest of my days.
All I have since known, will seem but a haze.
My nature this is, ancient fire rekindled.
For I have not failed. Wild call I have answered.