I alone know my soul,
yet distant its voice does roam,
Father; show me the way home.

For I have traveled far too long
and only my memory knows my song,
and I sense I no longer belong.

Around me the families do play
and to the other they return each day,
yet it is alone I seek my fate.

And still I am not in quiet disturbed
for in silence is born again my words,
upon the page ideas do turn.

The poet's mind I know is strange
for we are bare our lives upon the page,
and drink our measure of pleasure and pain.

But know we not of boredom's drone
for we cast aside comforts known,
yet I wonder, where is home……?


~SAS