On the day that I escaped,
and left the muddy slog,
there was nothing but the sky and me,
and the heat rising up from the road.
The toasted stalks of brown grass,
whispered their lazy conversation with the wind.
The sky was empty as the horizon,
a mirror to my thoughts.
Dance free, I stepped to the world’s rhythm.
Free from my chains that dragged me down,
their loops that I had wrought.
The air freed from human voices,
gave me leave to sing.
I waited for a friend of mine,
who would faithfully arrive,
and join me along the empty road,
to chat about life and that.
Until I left him for another path.
One which would eventually lead to my destination:
The place where I had begun.
To drudge through a dingy hole,
which I myself had dug.
Clung to with the filth of the masses
who joined me in our hell.
Their time, like mine, until escape again,
could be moments or years.
Before I can wash myself from the grit again,
meet on a deserted road my waiting friend,
To smile at the sky who smiles back at me,
to bathe in the heat rising up from the road.