moving out
from the noise
and the drama
and the control
and the good and the bad
loneliness is freedom
but how far is so far away?
is a blank page empty
or just white?
time in the form of a pen will tell

January starts its journey
as a wet and sorry thing,
a limp balloon in a leafless tree
and a soggy bit of string

The sun is shining the whole of the year
In a beautiful garden
Here right here
It’s in my mind but it’s very clear

There’s pretty red roses
And colourful flowers so sweet
The colours are amazing
To the eyes they’re a treat

There’s a feeling of freedom
Peace quiet and calm
In my beautiful garden
And my place of calm!

If there is a ghost of you
these are the edges
the cheek-turn,
the second-guesses,
the body-lean
the back I face
as I only cry this blood
wishing for your grace.