Home Is a Dream
Amid turmoil, is family stronger than the pull of the of homeland?
The heart was cold, but tender known
A ma, a lost one, some mixed up children too
Unwelcome bond of blood
Heads hung low, while quivered pens jot old words, weighty and misunderstood
Where be the affection and tender kisses?
When cometh revival?
What say our clan’s elders?
Head south for willow’s trees
Further towards the ocean, breezy
In it, find some courage tucked under mossy stones
That tear-soaked land that hid your war-borne past will give you strength to bare
And march aright the weary gang to a luscious land
Where warmed kin are cradled near
Promise of milk and honey pours out
Where persimmons grow and nations rise
Lead blindly to the heights of geese
Dreams north again to proclaim what they could not before see
The loving waits and searchings crease - a homeland bathed in peace
About the Creator
Casia
Storytelling is the most powerful tool in history and herstory. In it, I find respite for the heavy soul, passion for the lackluster spirit, forgivness for the guilty and justice for the disheartened. There is no greater pain nor pleasure.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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