Saturday, May 19, 2012

1995, the year i left town

The bejewelled, bedevilled defector
got out while the going was good
Ran away with the baby
Out into the day
eventually the night
It was the right
thing to do
It's me
not you
who
should explain
the way things got away
when you expected me to stay
at least for a while
a day
or two
I packed up my books again
I am looking for friends
To agree with me
but not too much
It's the out of touch
that makes me wince
I set a truce from all the abuse
I'm amused at my use of excuses
Caught out on the border
by the protectors
and preachers
The teachers all went for coffee
and left us with a bad taste
It was a waste of a good youth
And to tell you the truth
I made haste
just to leave and be free
or at least
to find longer chains
It was the music that saved me
again and again
let's refrain from repetition
but it's true
It's those years left behind
and the time to unwind
or unravel
I travelled and tried
and sometimes I cried
in the lateness of day
or at something I'd seen
that left me without breath
like fear of death
or public speaking



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