The plight of History
paths worn out
by lowered gazes
gutters soaked with
rivers of tears
swords blunted
with the hearts
of good ones, converted.
Converted to causes they
didn’t believe in;
converted against their will
walking on paths
worn by the tears
of those who’ve been there before.
Such a funny sentence
What does it mean
Where is nowhere
and where can I find it?
Is it where the trees stopped growing
and the oil slicks stopped spilling
Is it where there is peace
and love amongst all?
Looking through the courtyard
My gaze is drawn
To the two unclothed people
Frolicking in their kitchen
Wondering if they know
They are putting on a show
For my neighbours and I
Leaves me enough time to conclude
Perhaps time for a hot and steamy
cuppa tea
Questions swirling in my mind
Questions stirring swirling my stomach
anxieties of anxieties
and of my sensitive nature
lead me to question
lead me to doubt
a great deal.
Even if I wonder, even
if the anxiety whooshes in
even if I doubt
I know, I feel
I am at home with you
Even if I’m unsure
even if the doubts rush in
even if I’m not at home with myself
I’m at home with you.