As I ponder life’s endeavours,

Is there salvation, hell or any heavens.

As I think about this world we hold,

Corruption, cruelty, lies unfold

As I try to make sense,

Try to understand to create defence,

I struggle as a mortal man,To justify the immoral stands, of those with power across the lands, those that should and those who can, yet they fail to give a helping hand.

I fail to see, as I contemplate,

Why humanity is second, to riches sake,

It makes no sense to one like me, who craves nothing more than solidarity.

Nothing more than love and light, kindness and care, not hate and fight.

All I ask, if you can, if you will, is stand up to each and every bitter pill.

Don’t let unfairness eat you up, be strong, shout out and give a fuck.

If we are many, we are not alone, we can all be one on the earth....our home.

As I sit comforted by the blanket of nature,

As my mind wanders like breeze through the fields,

As I dance spiritually over briar and bramble....

I can dream.

I can dream of kindness, humility and togetherness,

I can dream of solidarity, truth and honour,

I can dream of the world we could have, should have,

I can dream.

I can believe that good things will come,

I can believe this broken world can become one,

I can believe that we can thrive together on this earthly kingdom,

I can dream........but I cannot dream alone.

You:

Queue up and wait your turn, Chat to others while waiting. Upon your turn, place order. 'Cappuccino to drink in please mate'. 'Small, regular or large sir?'. 'Regular please'. 'Chocolate sprinkles?', 'yes please'. 'Anything to eat?'. 'Hmm, actually yeah, I'll have a chocolate brownie too'. 'Here you go. £4.40 please sir'. Find any chair and sit down. Enjoy your coffee, chat munch your brownie. Relax.

Me:

I can see the counter. It seems so far away. I need to go past at least 5 tables of humans to get there. That's after I've negotiated the others just browsing the store. It's noisy. The voices pound like machine gun fire inside my mind. It surrounds me, becomes fussy and dramatic. TING!!! A spoon hits a cup, to my left I think. DING DING, DING DING!! DING DING DING DING, MMMMMMMMM. Crockery going into a dishwasher, location unknown. CHATTER, CHATTER, CHATTER, not words, just sounds, it's in every direction, closing in. CHATTER, CHATTER, BEEP, TING, DING DING, CHATTER, RING RING, LAUGH, BOOM, GUFFAW, CRASH. BOOM FUCKING BOOM, BUZZING BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ!!!

I can do this.

I breathe in, visualise my path and plan my route. I can do it, I'll pretend to be using my phone, it'll help me pass the tables. Seating location sensed, far right corner, table on its own, back to wall facing into room. Perfect.

FUCK NO WAIT!!! where's the escape? Where?...WHERE??? It's ok, there it is. Past table 2 and there's an out to the right, takes me back past the books and to the exit. There's another past table 5. Tables 1,3 and 4 will require quicker steps. Noise still present, but merged into process.

I can do this.

I take my first steps towards the counter. Head down, phone up. Avoid eye contact. Far peripheral vision keeps me safe. Follow the route. Instantly the counter moves further away, like it's retreating. It's in your head, keep moving forward, keep moving forward.

Past table 1. So far so good. Head on to table 2, escape route in peripheral. Starts well, onwards. FUCK NO WAIT!! Lady on table, pathway side, moving chair backwards. She'll block route, she'll push societal politeness onto me. Breathe in, Breathe the fuck in. Crisis averted, she was just making herself comfortable.

Table 3, quicken steps and past.

Table 4. No, no and fuck no..he's getting up, he's getting the FUCK up. Slow pace, judge it, brake, slow. Perfect. He's in front, I can follow. NO...NO....he's dawdling, slowing, turning, FUCK....wallet on table. He turns quick, 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there, I am clumsy'...NOD....SMILE (always remember the smile)....he needs to get back to the table, the gap is tight, he's passing by me sideways, body close and face to face, touching almost, SMILE AND MOVE, SMILE AND FUCKING MOVE. Past him.

Table 5. Escape route eyed. Past with no concern.

Counter. There's a queue. Five people. I can wait, it's fine. No pressure here and allows me time to plan my transaction. I'm calm. I can....NO WAIT!!!! Table 4, fuck, table 4 is behind me, wallet in hand....'I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on'...smile, remember to smile, always remember to smile. Nod.

Phone. Use phone as a barrier. Tap, scroll, swipe. Anything.

Head in phone, far peripheral still in use, maintaining contact with all routes, with seating potential. With escape.

Queue diminished, just one more before me. Several now behind table 4. I can feel them on me, their physical presence is weighing me down. Pressure, growing pressure.

The one before me is placing a big order. Constantly adding, constantly changing. Plan it, fucking plan your transaction. They are done. I step forward, I'm prepared....NO WAIT, she's turned back, there's still more, I leap back nearly crunching number 4, 'oh haha, that's one all mate'. NOD, SMILE, SMILE, NOD, PHONE, HANDS, FUCK!!!

My turn, I'm centre stage to an audience of one attendant and a 12 deep queue, 26 eyes watching my monologue, willing my end.

'Cappuccino please'. Confident delivery, assured and to the point.

'No problem, small, regular or large sir?', fuck a question.

'Er.....er....', the eyes burning on me more, pressure, pressure, 'medium, er regular please, thank you'.

'That's great, would you like chocolate sprinkles?'. Another question, I don't hear it, I'm switched off by being switched on to all around me, 'I....er......what?'

'Chocolate sprinkles? On top of the Cappuccino?'

'Yep, yes please, thanks'. Voice weakened, trembly almost.

'Oh I love choc....'....SHUT THE FUCK UP TABLE 4!! I ignore his engagement, my focus remains on the attendant. I instantly worry I've offended with my rudeness, 'sorry?' I hear myself say. 'Oh I was just saying I love chocolate sprinkles on mine. Can't have them now though, have to keep the sweet stuff to a minimum'.

I've switched off, I'm listening but not hearing, DING DING, CLATTER, BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ FUCKING BUZZING.

'Any food sir?' Questions, questions stabbing at me.

'What? Did you? What? Sorry?'

'Any food sir?

'NO,' I utter, 'thank you' I add.

'To drink in?'

Queue now 20, 40 eyes, 'Er yes, please'

Peripheral distracted, far right corner table taken. STOP!!! Say 'to take out', say it, SAY IT!!!!

Too late, cup half full.

'£2.40 please sir'

Reach for wallet, hands shaking unable to unbutton clip and unzip zipper, fumbling, hands full of holes, starting attacking at coins as if a bird pecking food. Give up, 'do you take card?

'Yes sir, we have to charge a pound though'

'Fine, yes fine'. Hand card awkwardly.

'Cash back sir?' NO MORE QUESTIONS, NO MORE FUCKING QUESTIONS.

'No..............thank you'

Transaction complete.

RAT A TATA, RAT A TATA, machine gun as coffee mug rattles on saucer in hand, location seeking new pathway to plot, fear of spillage growing.

TABLE 2, she's leaving. Don't think just act, head there with speed.

RAT A TATA, RAT A TATA, RAT A TATA. All eyes watching, judging, preying. Noises, noises everywhere.

Sat down. Table still has used crockery on it. Bad position, people passing behind to reach queue, tables either side, feel hemmed in and worse, back to escape route.

Hands shaking, head sweating, FUCK!!! I forgot to get sugar. It's at the counter.

DRINK, JUST DRINK. Phone out, looking at nothing but just tap, scroll, swipe, eye contact avoidance. I'm ok. I'm safe. With head down I'm closed off to the humans. Drink and go.

'Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here? There's no other free seats' SAY NO! For you own sweet sake, say NO!!!!

'Er.....yes, yes of course'. ARGHHHH.

Fiddle with phone again, slowly get up, smile nod, nod smile avoid eye contact and leave. Coffee still steaming.

Following day:

Coffee at home......burnt my hand on the kettle.

I sit beside the storm.

The repetitive beat of rain broken by the thunder lions roar.

Lightning follows, my mind and eye argue over its presence.

Rain harder, a more aggressive tune, deafening as it lands. 

More lion, more flash, an orchestra of weather. 

I am inside the storm.

I embrace it, it's force compelling and hypnotic. A ruthless ever changing rhythm of disorder, that shows it's strength by turning day to night with ferocious ease and reckless abandon. 

I am in awe of it, in awe of its majesty and grace, its uncontainable power and its variety of emotion. The storm is free. A freedom of which we can only dream. 

Queues are interesting places, they create time. Despite the obvious insult to your already busy schedule, time created by a queue can indeed be useful. It can be used to reflect.

I was in a queue. A typically hot and anxious queue in a convenience store. Before my frustration allowed its surface like a demented beast vying for blood, I used my newly given time for a more purposeful venture. I observed. I observed what was happening around me, observed the other participants in my unfolding soap opera of people watching. It's where I observed George.

George must be in his late sixties, early seventies. A big man in height and of heart, but seemingly shrunken by an untold burden. Big, yet incredibly small at the same time. He was interesting, and intriguing, through his grey presentation. His eyes, his only colour, spoke of stories of past memories that his drawn face failed to convey. Stories his mouth was not allowed to tell. His eyes glinted some form of life that his shell of a body, his cocoon, kept tightly locked.

He was helping, sorry trying to help, his wife load their shopping at the till. Her name I've not imagined enough but will go with Pam or possibly Maureen.

He barely spoke, he never had the chance. 'Not like that George', 'give it here George', 'oh you're useless George', 'must I do everything George'. They say that words cannot hurt you, but words coupled with scolding and patronising looks can wound more than the sharpest of swords.

He said nothing, never returned vitriol, just dutifully continued under fire. Like an old soldier destined to fall as bullets crashed around him. Head down son and get the job done.

The tirade continued, any choice he made was wrong, a decision from him would be considered a failure to comply. As his 'incompetence' became an enemy, He was sent on a side mission.

She'd forgotten peas. Not George, he wasn't deemed capable enough to work a complex list of items needing to be purchased. She had forgotten the peas, yet it was of course somehow George's error, 'see, you've made me forget the peas. Go get some'.

He confirmed the new order, 'peas, right' and set off. He hurried back, his pace sprightlier than his age, eager to please his commander.

'Oh for god sake George not those ones. Why can't you ever get anything right?'

As Pam or Maureen left to select the correct peas, and the queue grew deeper still, The shop assistants face became an unspoken dialogue to the scene. Sympathetic to the soldiers plea, but unable to help. Unable to offer shelter for the incoming shrapnel. Expressions that said, 'Jesus, get off the poor fellas case'.

The returning Maureen/Pam turned her attention to her, 'I don't know why I bother, he's clueless'.

'It's why many people shop alone madam' retorted the assistant. The grenade was missed by Maureen/Pam who was loading further bags into the ever decreasing arms of George at such a rate that would earn Olympic gold.

George was further at fault when payment was required. Unable to reach his wallet due to his arms being imprisoned by shopping, Maureen/Pam became further flustered, further embarrassed, 'you're just holding people up now George'.

'It's ok Madam, we're open until midnight'. Maureen/Pam again missed the bullet as she was busy viciously manhandling poor George for his money, so much so he dropped a bag. The bag of peas splitting as they thudded into the ground. I know I wasn't alone in thinking, 'that'll pee her off'.

Transaction made and they were done. She turned as if on a military parade and marched to the door, no words needed. George delayed his pace, 'thank you', he offered to the assistant. 'GEORGE! Will you hurry up, we're meeting Grace for tea and cake'. As he shuffled after her, he raised enough spirit to utter the words, 'Yes dear.....sorry dear'.

I've met George before, many many times. Even met the female George too. Hundreds of them, thousands if I'd taken the time to count. They are everywhere. They are the situational lovers. Those who made the decision to stay in a relationship based on time together, shared commitments or conventional society.

Choosing to forget their own happiness, their own dreams to comply with a label on a piece of beautiful church paper. Forgetting that they themselves only have one heart, one soul and one go at this life to find true unbreakable happiness.

Sure there would be heartbreak, lasting pain on both sides, yet is that the worst choice to make? Is the decision to stay more painful than the decision to go?

If staying together creates an isolation from self, can it really be happiness?

True togetherness isn't a call and command arrangement. It's about creating a freedom by being together, a freedom to be exactly who you really are.

Love doesn't isolate, it doesn't chain down or change a person. Love enables, love creates unity and love should always be life's greatest pleasure. It is bigger than all of us, and should never be confused with duty.

A whisper in water calls out to me,

A ghostly voice, from dark valleys deep, transcending physical and speaking free,

A truth it tells, of the world I roam,

Singing to me, it's own current strong,

Offering guidance and taking me home,

A voice clear through the rage of tide,

A watery symphony, as scorn waves crash,

'I will be with you, I'll stay by your side'.

I couldn't be truthful in saying whether he'd sat down before me, or me before him, my mind deep in battle with the moral compass of that days newspaper.

It feels right to say that he had been there all along. A silent presence, invisible until contact.

It was the breathing I noticed first. A slow nasally intake, followed by a wheezing crackling output. Each direction seemingly causing difficulties, seemingly taking great effort. Without visual confirmation, I decided that my companion on the bench was old. Very old.

'Ahh the song of the Thrush'. The voice caught me by surprise. I looked at him for the first time. He was old, extremely old. He sat with a weight that only old age can bring. 'I...I'm sorry?' I uttered. He turned his head towards me, a slow motion that felt straight from a movie. 'Oh....sorry....I was just referring to the birdsong.' he said. I smiled and nodded until he added, 'it was her favourite'.

He used the word 'was', a widower then. His age being another indicator to this assumption.

'We'd often sit and listen to the birds. Our own personal orchestra. We'd close our eyes and let their notes paint colours for us'.

He was reminiscing. Using me as the sounding board. Memories of a life shared. I was happy to listen.

Her name was Annie. A warmth engulfing his face whenever he mentioned the name. 'My Annie'.

He spoke as if a teenager, still caught in the throes of love, still enjoying the excitement of a new relationship. Yet his knowledge of her, the understanding, his sheer level of connection evidenced experience that only a long term love can offer. They shared everything, inner thoughts and feelings, true emotions.

'We were truly together, Annie and I. We were one. The first time we kissed, it felt as if we'd been in love forever. That can happen you know, a couple meets and they feel as if they've done it all before, instantly know each other deeply'.

I asked the obvious question, 'how old were you when you met?'

'She was 85, I was 87', his smile became wider and his eyes told me he knew what I was thinking.

'We met in the care home'.

They'd been together for six months before Annie passed. He referred to her as the love of his life, his dream. The girl he'd waited for all his years, yet didn't know he was searching. I asked when she passed away.

'Two days ago.' As the hammer of his words struck me, I saw that his smile was still as wide and his eyes still bright and joyful. Again he read my thoughts.

'Oh of course I'm upset, and I miss her terribly but it's not the end.

Now son, you listen to an old man. When it truly comes you'll know. Every part of your being will tell you so. And when that moment comes, you take it. Whatever the situation, you take it and finally you have found your home. Finally you are complete. You are together and you are one.

Real love can't be measured by periods of time, it isn't material things or what society expects it to be. Real love is everything you want it to be.'

Then he smiled. A warm and happy smile. A smile of content and satisfaction.

'You see, when you find that love, you know it will last forever. Will exist outside the boundaries we confine ourselves within. Mine and Annie's journey has only just started, her final words to me were 'until our days''.

He said no more. His words danced on the wind as his breathe and heart eventually stopped.

Never allow your now, to cloud and sully your forever.

Never allow that which you face today, to darken what light tomorrow brings.

Do not allow fear to ever be stronger than joy.

Leave your past as a corpse coffined by history and step into your true forever.

We are but once of this world, allow your stardust to sparkle.

They moved as one, two bodies becoming a singular entity. Physical poetry that beautifully intoxicated, freeing emotions from deep within.

This was more than a show, it was an experience. It affected so much more than the eye could see. We became part of it, part of them. 

And to me they were us. Our love portrayed on stage. Their knowledge of each other, trust and understanding, the connection. Each knowing the others need without a word spoken. A ballet of shared soul and spirit.

Soon we will also dance together, a dance that will truly take us home. 

Darling, can I have this dance?

Home isn't smart soft furnishings, it isn't cushions on the bed or pictures on the walls

Home isn't the place you keep your bed, or park your car. It isn't bricks and mortar, and gardens of grass.

Home is a feeling, a sensation. Home is where your heart feels like beating, where your spirit comes alive. Home is warmth and comfort, it's where you long to be.

Home is you, tonight I came home.