Posted on April 6, 2010 - by Rasham

Life Wears Me Out

In examining my existence I find that

there is only one, only one way home.

Today I mourn the vacancies in a sequence of three; one step, one stab, one me. I look for help but I am received with utter distaste; I am in the way and I do not belong here.

A smile cannot be found though people pour into streets like water from a wild fountain, they race to be places but the reason why is cleverly disguised; I just want to go home, back to nature’s womb, cuddled in the arms of vastness, blanketed in warmth and reading poems carved like symbols of imperfect hearts into the crust of a scorched tree.

‘The city, the city the city!’ I cry to the people so distant performing so distantly: why must I stay? Let them race and rot along the way, my city-self is suicidal and she demands her way; stillness is met by tears that grace pavement which meets my spirit that is so exhausted from exhausting every attempt to adapt by being higher this and not-so-much that; then what?

Then what when I walk around and I give myself and I bear my soul in honesty, and I allow and I disallow; I am drying up! It seems that every step I take requires another moment of stillness so I can collect and continue; and for what; for what? For what?

I require a way home. To the woods can I come now? Can I come home now? Can I come home now please? I think maybe you forgot me here, did I miss my turn to return? Can I come home now?

I know you say that the chains are illusory but I see today my life in this cage of gray and all I want is to come home now. The trees you say to see and be seen but I see them now as imitations; is it a trick to make me feel at home amidst this war?

In examining my existence I see only one way home; I require that way home now. The air isn’t clean and the energies are obscene and the fire that fuels the cars is from the same fire that burns bruised hearts and I am begging you please let me come home now.

A man walks by; did you send him my way? He says ‘what a beautiful day’ and I wonder if like the trees he sees that I am not so naive; he wants to sell me temporary peace, but I know better and so my eyes are facing up at the sky and I think that maybe it doesn’t go on forever; maybe its all fake and above it is a ceiling made of plastics and metal grates and there is someone like me looking down and laughing at the misery and sadness I create and I just want to go home now; please.

And the voice, it says to enjoy the mundane; no matter if it is real or fake or a ploy or one giant mistake; I am here and that’s the game; to find a plane where I can feel at home despite the craze.

In examining my existence I see that there is only one, only one way home.