What is left but the choosing?
The suitcases are packed
and sit by the door,
the cupboards are empty, and
the lights illuminating
the way have been switched off.
When I leave here,
I want to drive through the sun,
head south, and smile as
head south, and smile as
my fingertips cut through
a insouciant freeway breeze.
But as I leave, I think
that I'd like to end up at a place
that I'd like to end up at a place
where silence, like a painting
reminds me of art.
When life is a moment
to be worshiped.
Where peace sings
like a concert,
where stillness
is a near silent tune
in my vulnerable heart.
in my vulnerable heart.
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