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.
Somehow,
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;
Home.
I am on a pathway, now.
It is fraught with every danger I can create,
but I am walking,
I am going,
Home.
HG – 2019
