pieces

They say

That home is where the heart is

But how can that be, if the heart is shattered?

Shot

Into a million pieces

Bleeding.

Because

The place that I call – called – home

Is no longer.

Fear is my bed

I rest my head

On a pillow of needles

That prick my skin

And make the tears

Flow

For my country

That is lost

Among a sea of bleeding roses

The petals are long wilted

The fragrance has gone stale

My face grows pale

The sunken eyes

Of the children

I see them

I weep

For my home

The people.

My people.

I am homesick

I am home

Sick.

When will the nightmare end?

The endless waves

On a moonless sea

Tossing and turning

My stomach is churning

Will I make it

To the Promised land?

The land promised

To be

Full of streets

Paved with gold

I hope that I can pave a future

A path

To a new

Home.

But I cannot do it alone.

Together we will pick up the pieces

Though they cut our skin

Together we will.

Let us begin.