deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Few Long Years
If the soles of my boots could bleed, they would
Haven’t stopped walking for almost five years
Long years
Not like the ones when we were younger
From the mountain to the ocean and back
Not a metaphor
Was it painful: each time I left? Sure
I can hear every ‘goodbye’ right now, all jumbled
When I’m old and they ask me
What did you learn?
I’ll say it was the vacant lands that I found more company
Than in the densest of cities where I don’t care to breathe
Don’t let them fool you
Routine is death
Or living-not, rather
It’s best you let me go
Haven’t stopped walking for almost five years
Long years
Not like the ones when we were younger
From the mountain to the ocean and back
Not a metaphor
Was it painful: each time I left? Sure
I can hear every ‘goodbye’ right now, all jumbled
When I’m old and they ask me
What did you learn?
I’ll say it was the vacant lands that I found more company
Than in the densest of cities where I don’t care to breathe
Don’t let them fool you
Routine is death
Or living-not, rather
It’s best you let me go
Published 2nd Oct 2014
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