She Is Home

I walk through my home with no gold in my pockets,

carry no sweet water in my cupped hands

Fires rage in my eyes, as I turn up toward my refuge - that red one - in case home doesn’t pan out alright

Home won’t open her arms to me

She won’t lament that I am missed

Home won’t restore my sleeplessness nor make me feel fulfilled

She won’t hold my hand at night or feed me quenching fruits

She won’t cradle my children or insist I grow up

She is barren and does not apologize for it

She has given all that she can and has received little in turn

My home is rooted, and her battle is not foreign

It is with me and my brothers and our children

Our destructive natures borne from nights,

from dreaming too big and walking too upright

Her rivers drying up like tears, ‘cause she’s got no strength to cry

Her trees chopped off like hair ‘cause she’s in mourning for our cunning

I am nothing without her, but still

I cut her up and hallowed her out ’til she was but a shell

And I’ll keep on taking handfuls of her body,

Using ‘em up to sate my dread ’til either I move on or I die atop her, lonely,

holding her close so she can take me in turn , as I leave

Earth is my home, but I am not hers.

And she’ll do just fine without me.