On the table
The debris of a meal
That looks like it was for more than one.
The whiskey almost gone
The wine bottle empty too.
The litter of mugs, glasses, plates.
Bowie on the speaker
Man who sold the world.
In this green clad hut
The curve of the roof
Oak beams like ribs.
The hobbit burner
Flames flickering
In the midst of black iron.
The still air outside
Demands care on the inside
To keep the wood burning.
I watch the dancing beauty
Of the lively flame.
What is my life?
Is it to be alone
In this remote hut
In a big field
Shrouded in mist and dark?
Is this the fulfilment
I really seek?
A sip of wine
An alcoholic daze?
Is the tingle in my skin
The wine
Or the stove?
Where is all this going
Am I slowly withdrawing
Down the path to a long held dream
Or heading towards fruitless isolation?
I honestly don’t know.
Guess I am going to find out
One way or another
Coz there is no going back
Now
Image mine.
