I dream of running away,

Of hopes and wishes that I keep at bay,

But with so many ties that force me to stay,

I guess I can't go anywhere today.

I dream of starting anew,

Of faces belonging to god only knows who,

Where time is spent on what I want to do,

But I know I won't be going there with you.

I dream of breathtaking space,

Of learning a neighbour's familiar face,

Of sunshine, laughter, and a slow, easy pace,

I dream of myself in an unrecognisable place.

I dream of finding my home,

Of uprooting seeds somebody else has sown,

And settling down in a land of my own,

But wherever I'd go, I guess I'd be going alone.

Yes, I dream of running away,

Of endless tomorrows and as much work as play,

Of saying those words often too hard to say,

But as always, I can't go anywhere today.

Once, there was a travelling man. Unremarkable in many ways, built of chipped edges and rolling waters. There was little could be said about this man from a distance, but up close? Up close he span a tangled web.

He had a skill, this man. He had a skill with a fluted pipe. Wherever he went, his tune would play, but only ever his own for sure. Around him men would flock to learn, or women would fall at his feet. But this man, this man had little without his instrument.

He happened upon a corner I rested in, somewhere along the way. I watched the flocks who idolised, and how they fawned and cooed and stroked his ego. I was intrigued. I heard the song that followed him, and all too soon was caught in it. But I kept my distance long enough for that music to fade out on occasion.

And when it did, there was clarity. For the piper had only so far a reach, and that invisible tie didn't stretch to here and back without unravelling. Still, time would pass, and that man's melody would roll back my way, and for a while, I'd allow myself to get caught up in it again. But always from a safe distance. Always from over the chasm I'd carved.

Perhaps I'd done it for this very reason.

The fog would lift now and then, and a glimpse would be caught that seemed almost real, but wise folk say “All that glitters”, and they are right. I watched that man, watched his flock follow around those twisted cliff edges, every so often one falling, throwing herself to her death, and never once was a flower laid, or a respect paid. Never once.

On he'd go, that man. Each time with yet more; as if every one that fell bred two. I'd step closer to the edge now and then, but my heavy feet would crumble the earth, and I'd back away from the dangerous edge to safety. He could not reach me here, and as the chasm wore away wider, he could not see me clearly, either. I was but what he thought he saw. Still his song would carry.

I watched one day as his tune did play, and a friend of mine was caught. A pedestal and tinted glass; I saw beyond it now. But no warning would escape my lips, I could only look on as she lost her way. She followed the song he left in his wake, eager to please and eager to bond. I watched. I watched her fall. Yet, no tears were shed by the piper’s folk.

And now I watch with a different eye, as that man circles back with that pipe held high. As he blows his own for all to hear, yet his trickster tune falls into the void.

I no longer mind the silence.