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...
George Chadderdon © 1992