What is the point of continuing the struggle
Would it not be more comforting to be alone
And do I have to write it to even think it
Do I have to pour out the angst to get over the angst
What is it that inspires such opposition
What am I not being told
What must I discover for myself
Yes, there is heat and light and space
But wouldn't there be that anywhere
Because with such disregard for my ways
What is the purpose, where am I heading
I want to be in society, but I am not, not there
Just on halfway, see the white line
Made with a roller and a bucket of lime
A groundsman, with a steady eye and gait
And perhaps a bowl of rolled out twine
Remember the school playing fields
Running tracks and cricket squares
Where precision, and circumference
Both came into play
Running in at a heck of a pace
Then stopping, precisely, as the ball was released
Or taking a leg-and-middle guard
Before tapping the willow, behind the crease
Slowly, yet surely, the dark side fades
A new joy approaches, given the opportunity
We all have spaces open for recovery
Thankful to see the daffodils
Beside the driveway at Blackladies
I was cared for there, I was loved there
A small sadness enters
For my hosts will have passed away by now
Gone off to their promised land
For they did, together and separately
Share a faith
Which served them ever so well
