Been here too long, have to get out
the fear that beats into you
living in the country remains with you long after you've gone
becoming a second skin dislodged when away from the grasses
a part of the body embedded in endless paddocks
from the beginning, the greater years convene
at the point of youth
threads of a silence beckoning you nearer-
the farmland has it's own language, the voice of dirt you numb with drink,
with marks along your flesh that never heal, only press deeper
you learn too late, never escaping the clean wind
inside the fence-lines, the property's border
fleeing from all you know to be consuming
to get out, take a rifle from the shed and do away
with the isolation for good, is all you can dream of
where the air stands in place of buildings,
with no-one new to see
freedom becomes intolerable
that's why more people die by their own hand
in the country than in the cold city
everyone is somehow absent of themselves
when isolation is your company,
the quiet land without immersion
the road out of town that rises beneath cars
leaving the country for the city
your feet never miss the paddocks,
though still a tension between the outside
and the openness.
Enjoyed this very much. a lovely, descriptive piece of writing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very interesting write. Could almost feel and smell the country air. Can easily envision the whole farm, barn, country atmosphere. Well done!