I just felt like

I should run away,

it is a familiar feeling,

one that has been a bleak guide,

this signpost of being in the way,

of offering nothing,

just a spot in the dark

where it would be easier

to overlook, easier to find solace

in the long walk to another

self-destructive path

where they cannot reach me,

for a while,

paved with painted stems of sunflowers along its edge,

bristling with imagined life, for there

I might stop seeing the faces

of those who have died, of those

whose last words still dig deep into the Earth

of my mind, planting seeds of burden

that I cannot ignore…

…or even would.

In the way, the seeds tell me I am

in the way, whisper daily, shout

at night,

these words of goodbye, thanks for listening,

I had no choice but to do so.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018