hide away

I can't remember the last time that I wrote a poem but it was some time back in March. I tried participating in Poetry Thursday for a few weeks running but like most things the excitement petered out. I'm surrounded by shelves and exercise books, exams that are approaching which call out for work to be done, lessons to be relearnt, when really I don't want to do any of it, none at all. I can't even find the will to paint any more, or draw in ink. Nothing. I have passages of prose swirling around in my head every day but it's getting to the point where being unable to write them down is unbearable. I just want to travel on a train to a far-away country where shadows fly and birds are green. I want to leave this place behind, I want to pull wool over my eyes. I want to be able to sit and spin a silken thread into a length of string which I can knit into a cape to wrap around my bare browned shoulders. I want it to be summer again and in wales again, eight years ago (or was it nearly nine) when I'm in the black mountains standing barefoot in a stream with the cool water trickling through my toes and the air currents blowing gently by. I want to find that total happiness where you can be completely in the moment, not worrying about when the day ends, just content to be. I don't want to catch myself every time I think of Brazil. I don't want that melancholy feeling to being sinking into me, starting at my crown and pulling me down down down. I don't want to exagerrate sadness like I am doing now, I want to be happy, free, lost in a Rothko painting where colour is the ruler of all. I want to escape.