On the way to nowhere.
I turn left at our gate.
My road stretches endlessly
And downwardly to fate.
The lampposts shrink to nothing
By the ending of the road.
And a freshness flows from me to toes
So I relax and wait.

My father’s in the house.
His plans are logged in words.
The sunshine spoils his growing plants
Though rain would be absurd.
I’ve left the secret meanings
The never knowing sins.
And fresh air blows my folded hair
To glow somewhere within.

My tears were salty stained.
Just brushed away with care.
She who is mother pushed me
To the door that’s waiting there
Silently she helps me free.
She ushers me outside,
And takes the brunt of all his will
His petty, wilful pride.

Nature wipes the fear away.
The brease is friend to me.
The freshness is a growing hope
Of where may be I’ll be.
I walk, I talk, but all alone.
Yes all alone I stay
For I am odd to those that view
This boy, whose got away.

24 January 2002