The Training

In one I was wounded, brittle with fright.
In two I joined rank, for my life I would fight.

In camp, on rota, I dedicated my might.
In session, in fun, my poet-tree would delight.

In three I found me, antler, horn and bite.
Now towards the end, the reason is in sight.

​By Simon Blackler
Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021

​If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.

The Call To Adventure

Shamanic Practice