and of the darkness, of the injustice, 

what can I say?

can I tell you there is another world,

a great beyond?

can I tell you 

that beyond is great?

are these but bubbles,

at your shrewd needle’s mercy?

I know not.

but I have to believe.

I have to believe

that there is something more,

that this 

is not it.

I have to believe

we are a realm

between realms

between realms, between realms—

that one of them 

is home.

not here. 

no, not here. 

for if this is but a visit, 

I will abide my time.

is this homesickness,

longing 

for the motherland,

longing 

for the mother’s hand,

to wipe the sweat 

from my brow,

the blood 

from my mouth?

tell me— 

am I just visiting? 

should this be a delusion,

then gladly will I be blind. 

for I walk through a desert

mad with thirst—

hope that is false 

is still hope.

oasis or mirage,

I care not.

this is not home.