It used to be so easy to dream of running away,

to throw in the towel and become forgotten quickly in one day.

Leave all behind and always start a new

be a vagabond, a tramp in new clothing, with no expectation from anyone

because they hadn’t got used to you.

 

Just turn up in a different town one day,

the fresh faced boy on the street, the accent from far away.

Nobody gave a damn because they had no idea,

but they gave a damn when I could not fit in, a ragged detestable man

whose thoughts they could not harness and could not steer.

 

Running away was so easy, a bag with some tapes for the journey,

the only company in my head was myself, I and me.

The longer you stay in one place though, the harder it becomes.

Till one day, you realise that you left it late and cannot run away; only to have stones thrown

at your intimate thoughts, baying crowds driving your soul to wasteland slums.

 

I will wait at the station one day and push myself to leave

and I will have whispered a fond goodbye in your direction, a sniffle smeared on your sleeve.

Why would I stay and hold you back, your star would rise again?

I am always destined for the gutter, it’s who I am, it’s who I am meant to be,

for what man of sanity would ever leave and why would the insane remain?

 

Ian D. Hall 2015