It stood on a hill I climbed every day
Looked out of its windows
To the hills and skies and sea
For some it was prison
But for me it was learning
And a place to witness my being
A place where I was loved
Or at least regarded in the absence
Of love at home
There are only a few dusty images of me
When young
They are not kept tidy
Or revered
My learning, my being, were not valued
But I knew, to get out I had to do well
I had a role, a purpose
Not like the in-between years
When I wandered the streets
With no direction
Sore feet
Aching head
Moving in circles in rain or shine
I would not resurrect my school days
But I am thankful for what they gave me
A place of safety
A rhythm
A love of words and books
Now I try to re-create the structure
To move myself forward at my own volition
Every day is a lesson
A learning
I still love words
Order
Waking up with some place to go
Being part of a world
Perhaps one I don’t understand
But one that is bigger than the world in my head
I will always strive for freedom
Try to look out not in
I will find safety and a place to be
And best of all it will be made from my hands.
