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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A melancholic poem about escapism and existentialism.

Submitted: August 03, 2012

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Submitted: August 03, 2012




Sometimes I like to go walking,

in the country on paths seldom used.

For I feel at great peace and a freedom out there,

like the path really is mine to choose.


But as time, or the weather, or my own hunger dictates,

inevitably I must turn back for home.

Although I wonder sometimes what would happen to me

if onwards I belligerently strode


Perhaps id be dead in a day or two,

huddled frozen beneath thicket hedge.

Or circumed in vast forest whilst searching for food,

or for water beside rivers edge,


and wouldn't it be so much simpler

just to do a one eighty and turn.

Head for home with a future more certain.

Curiosity regrettably spurned.

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