Steinbeck wrote of a restlessness many feel.
The urge to run away and find adventure.
To travel, wander, discover, and be free.
Every person has this feeling inside of them, pushing them to escape the boredom of reality.
To roam the countryside.
Surviving with nothing but the clothes on your back and the cash in your pocket.
Is this not living?

A gardner altogether today
when inhibitions do vividly flower
any indecision of late.
Then the time only to browse let her see again
in her topiary again
she's mine forever as our love shall grow

if a candy onion too
with parsley on her new potato
has sprinkled together with her multitude
the logic in esprit today
and music that lingers on the terrace
will ensue any treasure in her soul
and though a flux of recent time.

Harsh wind screaming
moaning
with the crisp bite of Autumn night

Dark shadows dancing
tossing
with the branches of bare grey Elms

The lanes are winding
uncurling
in the pale orange glow of headlights

Sudden hedgerows
green
edging the limits of the night

Power-cut darkness all around
silhouettes
strange in the headlight beam

No farm lights distant on the Tor
guiding
beacons of open field and place

Cottages shuddering their thatching
thrilled
chimneys smoking message-morse

Pub signs banging wildly
flapping
in a crazy dance
inside candles flickering
distorted
patterns in tiny panes of rounded glass

Old stone steeple steady
dull toned bell
catching
a ride on the wind to the copse

And still the lanes thread out
beam-born
a ribbon of pebbles and stone
stretching into the night
until they melt
into the flat black tarmac
of the motorway.

Back on the countryside,
Just for a day,
Seeing far,
Real darkness,
without street lights,
blurring the stars away.
Less people,
more animals,
feeling the wind,
grass underneath my shoes,
It feels more like home,
than the city,
I've been staying in,
for the last months.
The feeling of home,
I still can't distinguish,
What it is exactly,
But it makes me feel happy.
I would be even more happy,
If you, my love,
would be there,
Just your presence,
gives a warm golden edge,
To everything I do,
Everything I experience.
Being happy,
in a happy place,
with you.
That's what I want

it's better when the lights are off,
you shine brighter like the stars.
i feel you nearer, i see you clearer,
when we close our eyes in the dark.
to breathe in the scent of you and the countryside,
to leave our fears in the metropolis and city lights,
makes me love you and nature in its simplest form,
from it you came, that i could have sworn.

Cold rain pelting on my skin,
city lights reflected in the wet black tar of
a road almost too narrow for the cars racing by -
all this I saw last when you were standing by my side,
feeling the nighttime city live and breathe around us
as we watched people scurry by and call for taxis in the cold.
It has never felt lonely to me before, I never saw
how isolated you are in a city when you're standing in its heart,
watching the blood pump through veins around you
and yet not moving, stagnancy amidst torrents.
A neon light flickers across the street from me
and I am ripped out of my dream to realise
you are not with me this time.
I see you in every street lamp;
around every corner I expect to see your face
to face only myself in the mirror of a dark shop window.
My face looks unexpectedly hollow,
my shape unfamiliar without you next to it,
and I wonder when my life became about you.
I do not belong here, into this city where
lights gleam bright even in the darkest hours
and sirens scream agony all night long.
I am from a different world, one where
dogs run free across wide fields and along rivers
and the air smells of fresh-cut grass in spring.
I am from a world where nobody locks their door
and stone-and-wood houses are made to live in,
not concrete boxes where numbers rule lives.  
All this was once foreign to me, and is again;
I do not belong with the neon lights and cinemas,
the glass facades and cold black tar,
I do not belong with the flashing ads and loud sirens,
the people who don't smile as they walk by.
All these things remind me of you.
I was one of them, one of the souls that made up this city
but I cannot live in it when you are not here.
I do not belong here anymore,
among the thousand lights that remind me of your eyes
and the constant noise that sounds like your breath.
All this reminds me too much of you.