Image of a mountain pass

Funny how introspection makes me lonely.
My prison has no walls.
I know that you would offer words to soothe me.
Instead, continuously, I choose to fall.

A photograph becomes a bridge
Between where I'm from and here,
But it shows no green fields, no bordering hedge.

The frame embraces a foreign hill;
A mountain standing tall and clear
Above younger brothers,
Wives and lovers,
Friends and foes,
Whose rocky limits stand unknown
To me, in Albion bliss.

I am carried to another picture
On the sideboard, by the wall,
Painted by my almost uncle,
Mystery-filled, yet small.

Funny how introspection makes me lonely.
My prison has no walls.
I know that you would offer words to soothe me.
Instead, continuously, I choose to fall.