The puppeteer can laugh
While he makes his marionette dance.
Little does he know
What it’s like to be strangled in his strings.

We search for meaning in this barren field,
Only to find a mirror pointing us back.
Life is searching for meaning
And not being happy with what you find.

I can count the years I spent in that storm.
I can remember every sleepless night.
I can recall every word which was exchanged.
What I can’t do is… let go.

Forgiveness is something foreign to me.
A refugee trying to inhabit my borders.
It’s my nation,
But it’d be inhumane not to let him in.

Maybe the day will come
When the Sun rises with the Stars
And the Moon brings the morning.
Maybe there will be a time when I can say your name,
Or look you in the eyes again.
Maybe…