Food and Water

In a foreign country I sit,
My visit testing new ground,
Of unfamiliar territory and sound.

A place taken by one in-charge,
I sit hungry and thirsty I want to discharge
How I feel.

Yet in respect for this foreign land,
I remain silent and suffer alone,
For soon I will go somewhere close by,
Where food and water,
I shall not die.

Comforts I surround myself with and rely,
And now I have been removed from that safe womb,
Into a forest of wild and inextricably sun drenched landscapes,
that shape a continent so vast,
Where things stay slow not fast.

And my body is adjusting to the pace,
Confused and delirious the space it creates,
For I am hungry and thirsty, and anxious to go,
To that somewhere close by.

Yet I know I will not die,
Yet comforts call me home.

I shall display courage and strong will,
To remain still,
And far reaching content,
By the bewilderment I now sense.

The person in-charge in now asleep,
And I could sleep for this strange course of events
That blends my anxious desire for food and water,
Put out this fire.

I reach a point of being out of control,
My role now much more submissive,
Leaving me unable to be completely decisive.

My choices taken away,
And the day drifts from morning to late,
My hunger a symbol of life,
Of primal instinct my strife.

To refuse my need so basic would be wasted,
And I now crave to taste a sweet smell,
To hear a soft touch,
And see a safe tune.

Yet I know I will be somewhere close by,
Where food and water,
I shall not die.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB