This heart has been to places many
but never one like here
The language keeps changing
And the view is never clear
She’s uneasy with the neighborhood
At once it’s bright and dark
The’re are bars on all the windows
And the benches are so hard
Every door seems bolted fast.
And sometimes she’s locked in
Other times she’s shut out tight
With no warning as to when
And all the while she seeks the comfort
Of a particular pair of arms
A voice to stop her rush and worry
A passion that disarms
Oh her soul it sighs and grows so weary
Hope waning like the moon
She wonders has she made a home here
Or is this to be her tomb?
The image is by an artist named, Kinga Britschgi.
Click here for her website!