The Road Home

All the leaves are dead

and the sky is black

and I have little time to ponder

the coming winter.

I’m fighting a war.

A war for my own soul;

for fortune

and fantasy

and flavour

placed me here,

in certain jeopardy.


I came from a small, mountain town,

far away from guns

and girls

and wanting.

I played “Soldier” amongst the trees

and I thought I knew

my path,

my way,

my calling.


This is where Fortune comes in.

This is where curiosity

skins, guts and dismembers the cat.

This is where things go dark,

and the screaming starts,

and the night begins to call,

and the radio

plays songs about heroin.


The first knot in the noose.

The first flick of the bag.

Maybe an easy out,

but maybe,

just another taste

of the hate.

It locks you in,

locks you down,

and this kid,

now a young man;

didn’t stand a fucking chance.



in a pile of dead bodies,

I was found,

and plucked from my battlefield.

Something stood me up,

brushed me off

and embraced me,

just for a moment.


Far away from here,

I can see the mountains;


I am on a pathway, now.

It is fraught with every danger I can create,

but I am walking,

I am going,




HG – 2019

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