At the End of the Street
There was a paddock
at the end of the street
locals called No Man's Land.
It was a few acres
of wild let loose inside
a suburban brick and asphalt order.
Plenty of open grass, trees
to climb, old stables
and fenceless yards gave
an untamed world to the kids
thereabouts to explore
and claim.
It was the place to go
to escape from walls,
the world and the tyranny
of merciless gods.
I spent a good part of my
childhood in the sanctuary
of those grounds.
When things got too much
I would crawl out
and hang on tight to the tail
of a kite I flew there, high above
the world where I lived.
The air had no boundaries
and was beyond the reach of hell.
I was before myself
in those heights and floated free
of what held me.
Come dusk,
I could feel myself slowly
being drawn downwards
into a waiting dark
and back into another place
where I didn't want to be.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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