The Bucolic Plague

The road was dirt, dust and grass, scattering beneath our feet.
Cows grazed unaware where we walked,
Involved like children with cherished toys.
Only the birdsong accompanied our tuneful giggles,
Vulgar remarks too brash for others to appreciate.
How I appreciated it.
The bales were high, cloudy and raw, crumbling beneath our hands.
I made it to the ledge first, helped you up,
And we sat together, catching our breath.
Only the trees could see we were there, and did not care.
We sat in silence for a while, appreciating it.
How I appreciated it.
The words were pure, natural and free, flowing from our mouths.
Times were changing, moving was planned,
Taking me away from you; from my home.
Only the words you spoke made me feel secure, and feel alive.
The future seemed so attainable to us then, and I appreciated it.
How I appreciated it.
The times were good, happy and bright, touching us both inside.
We remembered the past, the parties, the fun we had,
Living each day together, living within each other.
Only the darkness sneaking up behind the horizon loomed,
The cure to our bucolic plague. How it appreciated us -
How I dreaded it.

And it came. And I left you behind, trapping you in cellophane,
Preserving you in glass, photos of us smiling, drunk and so happy,
And I knew that it would never be the same.
Only we had our lives, our friends, our lovers and our shame,
Our freedom chained us to life, and it took us with it.
How it was not appreciated

The regret was painful, dull and cruel; the life I wanted snatched away.
Those hay bales disintegrated and recycled, those care free cows now full
On our happiness, our souls and our freedom.
Only the rain can feed our food on which we thrive,
Gorged on experience and trials the others appreciate.
How I did not appreciate it.
The neophobia of life without you subsided into a full ache of the soul,
A lament of our home drilled its way into every memory,
Every thought of home filled with the grief of loss.
Only the distant glow of recognition, the shine of sun on grass,
And wind through trees sang ‘you’, but did not appreciate it.
How I did not appreciate it
The joy of returning home, like a ship espying the harbour,
Coursed through every vein I possessed, leaking brilliance,
And I knew I would see you again; I would live again!
Only then could I fill my lungs with country air,
The clean smog-free bliss. Oh, to appreciate it!
How I did not appreciate it.
The unwanted knowledge that you were happy and free in your new home
Filled me with forest green envy, blackest disappointment,
And an unwanted regret of this love I feel.
Only you could make me feel this small, this unwanted and unloved,
And how I feared confining you to my memory; memories appreciated.
How I dreaded it.

And it came. And you left me behind, trapping me in cellophane,
Preserving me in glass, photos of us laughing, stoned and so happy.
And I knew that it would never be the same.
Only you had your life, your friends, your lovers and your shame,
Your freedom chained you to life, and it took you with it.
How it was not appreciated.