There’s a man on a bench In the heat of the day Slowly drinking His life away He’s the King of the World If he’s to be believed And he’s wondering now Where all the roads lead
There’s a girl at a bar With a drink in her hand Hoping one day He’ll understand Life’s not worked out Quite how she perceived And she’s wondering now Where all the roads lead
There’s a boy skipping school In the mid-day sun Threats and aggression Left him nowhere to run He didn’t subscribe To their playground creed And he’s wondering now Where all the roads lead
There’s a young wife asleep In the big house alone Gifts and presents But her husbands not home The scratches they sting As a wound starts to bleed And she’s wondering now Where all the roads lead
There’s a family on a boat In the middle of the night A perilous journey That began at first light Adrift on the channel As their hopes Now recede And they are wondering now Where all the roads lead
The roads that lead The things we hold These fragments of life That are brought and sold The roads we share And the roads alone These are the roads That will carry us home
Here I am, in my office, crying.
I have just spent the last 3 hrs desperately researching headphones... again.
You see I lost my charging case on the train, with the memory of me losing my previous case too fresh it stings, along with the memory of dropping my phone in a gutter and spilling water all over my laptop in December... Is this ADHD tax?
But as I sit here frustrated with myself my phone buzzes - a notification. My writerscafe account has a message. It's been years. And of course, as expected, it's spam. But I'm in, who else has still lingered here?
And what a joy to see new writing from you, Carl!
I haven't really written over this last decade and I'd forgotten how regulating poetry is.
But already I feel calmer, my problems sillier and everything will in fact be okay. The last 3hours need not feel like waste and worry and shame...
These roads they lead
me back to you
To poetry
and feelings true
and grounding words
old and new.
Hi I'm Carl. I'm from England. I can't remember a time when I did not write. I went to school and had the most amazing teacher an American called Martin Foxwell. He taught me so much. The greatest le.. more..