by Richard Vince
The aluminium in my eyes has
Oxidised: I can feel dry powder
When I open them too soon after
They closed, making ghosts of
Words once written there.
There are no feathers in my hair,
There is no clear marble to
Invert my face, but I can
Still be as much a free spirit
My wandering feet have not
Stepped as far as yours, but
That does not mean I have
Not travelled far. How can
You expect to find your own path
By following the same one as
My questing heart seeks out
The prosaic, the overlooked,
The places that are assumed to be
Unworthy of exploration.
My tropical beaches are council estates,
My distant mountains are high voltage
Pylons, marching to the horizon.
This is how I have always been:
Distinctively ordinary rather than
Different in the same way
As everyone else.
We can both be individuals and
Still remember we are part of
Some larger whole. One day, I hope,
I will find my way back to the path
From which I wandered, and
Take my place among friends again.
Posted on 07/12/2020
Copyright © 2020 Richard Vince