Elysian Fields

Avenues of mighty oaks and vistas of rolling green,
As I ponder another life a hemisphere away,
Below the long white cloud,
Subtropics to warm this fresh new soul,
As we drive through emerald parklands,
Clouds of white float by me with dark intent,
Sun ray cascading through the breaks,
And tinging edges in reddening tones as it drops behind the hill,
Naked tree’s silently waiting on springs warn sigh,
Winters snow’s a memory away,
I have battled through my days,
Fought for my freedom from the imposed image of I,
In thrusts and short cuts,
I have bled imagined and real blood on these lands,
Lashed and cut by barbed tongues,
It’s parched lands have sapped my mental hydration,
I have screamed at the sunrise
And cried at the suns setting,
In stubborn determination I have remained,
though I have stumbled at times,
Refusing hands of help,
I have walked the fields and hills of my life,
But to new Elysian Fields I must to journey,
My life to end in more tropical surrounds,
When my day should come,
To leave behind the stories of my life,
Told by dispassionate kin,
To whom ever would sit a listen,
The verbal abuse keeping me in my place,
No longer to be heard on distant shores,
To re-invent or re-create,
To be born a new,
Leave the frightened child on these foreshores,
Its abandonment for my own fragile sanity,
To forge a new me,
The real me,
To blossom with the cherry trees,
Come next spring,
To baptise my self in the South West Pacific,
To be born again.

I was trying to think today, as I finished writing this, how long it had been since I last wrote one. I have not written a poem for the six years I have been sober, I dont think I ever felt the same courage when sober to look in to the dark corners of my being, as I did when I was drunk, or feel the freedom to express in words what I had found hidden deep inside. This was not supposed to be a poem about emergrating from the UK, but more along the lines of the roman belief in the Elysian Fields they go to after death in battle, their heaven.

I dont drive the direction of these poems consciously as I write, I tend to let myself free to explore. I have Likened NewZealand to the imagined Garden of Eden after my first visit, so maybe that is where the crossover lies, and rebirth and baptism hooked in to the religious theme. It ended up as a goodbye to the UK, of sorts. Who knows, dont ask me I am as nutty as squirrel shit.

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