Homeland

0
SHARE

The dead are not absent, they are invisible. 
-St. Augustine

That place where fingertips find secret routes 
Streets so ancient, no name but their use 
People composed of blood and dust, soldered by fire 

There is no measurement of degrees which define the pear tree and the child 
The moon watched occupants, travelers, visitors, guests come and go in human tides 

The earth held each footprint for so brief a time 
You build a wall, encircled with spears of fire

You don’t realise there is no homeland 
The pear tree and child turn to dust

You don’t realise there is no homeland 
The moon watches occupants, travelers, visitors, guests

You don’t realise there is no homeland

You don’t realise there is no homeland

You don’t realiseĀ 

Please consider supporting us with as little as $1 per month via our Washington Babylon Patreon account. Every little bit helps and will keep us delivering great coverage
Print Friendly, PDF & Email