Oh what a tiresome tale, my life,
A string of bland enjoyments
And foolish frustrations and sorrows
Each year, a changing scene;
Home begins to lose its meaning.
I'd trade one setting for another
I'd trade each stranger for any other.
Only that which lends me meaning
Would I guard with wary eye:
My self, my arts, my talents,
My mind, my body, my tastes and convictions,
My truest friends,
And my hopes and dreams.
Only these and the means to realize them
Would I care to take with me.
These in themselves are already sufficient burden
For a confused soul such as I.

I raise my finger to the past.
Fie on the good 'ole days!
Parting is such sweet joy
When it's pain and sorrow I leave behind,
So let the winds of Fate
Bear me far away from here,
And sever my ties with all but the dearest,
And to the rest...
Good riddance.

George Chadderdon © 1992