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Why do I have to long,
To find a place where I belong?
Just trying to find a place,
to rest this nomadic soul
a place to stay,
without a hole.
Ruheen Sep 2020
Halfway there
Then I turn around
Start walking west
But I hit the ground

And I don't get back up
I turn to my side
Elbow underneath
As the I watch the Sun pry

The gravel digs in
I turn on my back
Lie on my arm
Make it all pitch-black

I keep 'em open
When I hear sounds
Engines revving
It's about to go down

I crawl outta the way
My palms scraped and ******
Was lying on the dirt
But my jeans got muddy

Lights fly past
They show me a way
So I tie up my hair
And start walking straight

I'm still halfway there
But I turn my feet
Start walking north
Now there's grass underneath

How could one find me,
In this mess of a field?
...
Viseract Jul 2020
Sunken eyes, wretched mind
This void I feel is my demise
The depths to which can't be described
Reality, the biggest lie

I wander roads that can't go wrong
So will you miss me when I'm gone?
I'm right here yet so far away
Will you be the one who stays?
The subtlety of disassociation
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Oasis
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

I want tears to form again
in the shriveled glands of these eyes
dried all these long years
by too much heated knowing.

I want tears to course down
these parched cheeks,
to star these cracked lips
like an improbable dew

in the heart of a desert.
I want words to burble up
like happiness, like the thought of love,
like the overwhelming, shimmering thought of you

to a nomad who
has only known drought.

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, love, eyes, glands, tears, cheeks, lips, dew, desert, oasis, mirage, nomad, drought, words, happiness
Abraham Mar 2020
Could you be here?
the street sign, trees, puddles of wet snow
murmur Yesssssssss
father and daughter playing a card game
with the woman behind the counter
whisper You could, if you tried
the drawing and origami birds
folded up inside an exhibition booklet from Krakow
urge you
to be here.
pa3que Aug 2019
Marie, took some fresh baked goods,
set her sail through blood-curdling  woods,
in search of a one who hearts can alter.
her heart broke a man,
and so with sedan,
she seeked the one who’d scrap her falter.

to prevail over cold,
she took some gold,
to pay the one who hearts can alter.
she traveled sad,
but reached a nomad,
who claimed “i’m the one who hearts can alter.”

he was a fraud,
very sharp-clawed,
he stole her gold and then he paltered.
took his leave,
with a thieve,
after saying “Marie, your heart is altered.”

“Oh, Marie naive,
do you still grieve?”
the nomad was actually a salter,
see in this ground,
there’s not around,
a single soul that hearts can alter.
Effie Rose Jul 2019
You may believe home to be an address,
You are wrong.
The co-ordinates I list as my place of residence,
Are subject to change.
As do the seasons,
As my health waxes and wanes,
As my job becomes a harrowing echo,

My home will remain,
Incorrupt,
Unblemished.

As the night-sky,
Glistens and reminisces.
Its nostalgic ribbon intertwines with my soul -
My heart,
Recognises its home.

The waves,
That serenely lap against the shore,
Leaving, once elapsed,
A maze of its belongings,
Like a Nomad on his journey.
Demonstrative tides of exposure,
Against our profane human culture,
To jumble together
In definition,
Our home and our belongings.

Does this translate,
That home is sovereign
Of worldly corruption,
And is therefore
Safe from life’s unpredictability?

Home,
It is a state of mind.

Home is the essence which coats your soul.
Home is the promise of peace.
Home could never be my place of residence,
For between hospitals and the couches I have surfed,
Void of worldly possessions,
I have never once been homeless.
I possess more than the man who cannot see
That a fixed abode in this world is not the true interpretation,
Of a phrase so bespoke.

As I look into the night-sky,
And reminisce;
As the waves serenely lap
Against the borders of land and sea,
I accept that no matter where in the world I may find myself,
The moon will still shine,

The waves will still sing soft melodies to the sand,
And my home,
I forever hold in my hand.
'Home' explores life's uncertainty through the key issues of homelessness, ill health and our materialistic culture. They always say, 'Home is where the heart is.' - but what does that truly mean applied to our daily lives?
Allesha Eman Jul 2019
•I’ll take you home•
I know that’s where you’ve been dying to go
I’ll take you there, where the air fills your lungs
And kisses your breath with it’s tender chill
I’ll take you where the fire rests all day
Waiting to be accompanied by your igniting flame
And where the birds sing to the wind, welcoming tales to let you in
I’ll take you home, wherever it is you want to go
As long as your fingers are wrapped in my hand
And your head rests on my shoulders
I promise to keep the fire going, until I have to let you go
But remember when that day appears
You’ll have forgotten me, and all your fears
•And You’ll be home, where you belong. •
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