The Refugee - Poetry
for a place to call home;
just moments into my journey,
I stop to look back.
churns and burns within my belly;
I fantasize: striking a match
to burn my previous dwelling.
while gripping the rug
and I entranced by oil:
extracted from snakes.
only multiplied lead,
while hoping for liberators
to vindicate.
both sinner and saint;
to be the alchemist
transmuting your pity to rage.
my complicity lures patsies.
I am lost: searching; hoping; praying
for a place to call home.
