I do not run marathons,
For I am a sprinter.
I do not read James, or Austen,
Preferring the absurd of Pinter.
I do not like Summers,
With their long, hot times.
I prefer the darkened days
Of a harsh, bleak Winter.
I live alone.
In the shadow of my mind.
I live alone.
For there is no one of my kind.
This is my decision, my destiny, my choice.
But, if I were to listen,
Beyond my plaintive voice,
I would hear a friendly face,
Knocking at my door.
“Do not fear me”, it would say,
“For I have been before.”
I would open up my house,
My home, my mind, my heart.
And, with this trusted angel
Begin a safe, new start.
Friday 30 June 2006