End Of The Road Poem by Mary Champion

The journey would be long.
The road ran, unbending,
through paddock and ploughed field,
golf course and wilder wold.

It was misleadingly open
like you were free to roam in
it at will. But every acre was fenced.
The weary traveller glanced -

wondered how the soft earth felt,
then resigned himself to asphalt.
Only the high road permitted
access that was ungated.

Only the uneven grass verge
offered a sort of refuge
from speeding cars
and laden tractors.

Shattered by the relentless demands -
the pressure than never ends,
he had quit the lucrative job
and the suffocating web

of networked contact,
that had begun to restrict
his ability to breathe,
and he'd chosen this path.


He would walk until
his soul began to feel
something - anything -
anything other than nothing.

He lost count of the days,
of the nights spent in hedgerows.
Then a subtle change of air
as he came to the shore.

No fences here, blocking access,
here he was free to pass.
The sea belongs to no man
and it beckoned him in.

The siren song of relentless waves
spoke to him of long lost loves,
of long lost innocence
and a second chance.

As it worked its gentle spell
he found that he could feel.
The numbness in his heart
melting without effort.

This was his journey's end,
here, salvation would be found.
His spirit rose and flew
as he felt the undertow.