On Moving On…
This is for the day when you are torn in two.
When the discontent comes.
When a world once endless is now four walls and closing.
The constriction of breath
and the whisper out ahead,
there must be more than this.
This is for when the old ways can no longer hold you
and when you realise,
that they have not been able to do so for quite some time now.
This is for the day of dissatisfaction
When, from the drip of a tap that is no longer flowing,
you take back your cupped hands
and how hard it is to do so.
We would place our mouth around the pipe,
suck rust if we could.
I have seen men lose themselves for less.
But you are more than this,
Throw yourself from nest,
flap wings even when you think that you have none,
I have seen men give themselves to this.
This is for the day of choosing,
itchy feet and shaking knees.
Clothes that stretch too small
Stringent borders and high prison walls.
The streets that knew us and gave us our name.
You know what silent death awaits you should you stay,
you know what it is to be frozen.
So walk out the front door,
leave the house of your conditioning,
follow the path around the back, through the fields,
though regret may follow you there,
though fear and sorrow may be your guide for a time,
they will soon lose interest
when they realise
that you have lost interest in them.
Fear is a pen who has misplaced her ink but still continues to mark up the pages regardless,
like the boy drawing pictures in the margins.
Take off your too tight skin,
The freedom of the new frontier always outweighs the pain of our tearing,
the loss of our covering,
unravelling, raw and vulnerable and fraying at the edges.
This is for the day when change comes to find you.
When you smell a new scent on the wind
This is for the day when they cannot hold you,
when you realise the rules were never made for you.
I urge you, on that day to turn around, quickly now, not for too long
take a picture with your mind,
for this is the last time that you shall come back to this place.
Thank it for what it was,
the words given to you,
for who you became under its soft gaze,
pay it the homage it is due,
tattoo its memory on the underside of your ribs,
so that if the future takes everything from you,
it can never take this.
It is only when you are naked that you shall be able to read it again,
It may help you remember who you are in the face of such loss.
But now turn from this,
give yourself to the new path,
the uncharted and the unfamiliar
keep the wind at your back,
your pack is light and the night is over.
This is for the day when you take that very first step.