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I light a candle to illuminate
thoughts this world holds. Some
I cannot understand,
others simply trying to land
but hover instead. And this song
keeps playing in my head.
I can’t find my way home.
I feel there will be no peace,
not now, not among this culture
of shame and blame.
Not when you question others,
but refuse to question yourself.
Still I light a candle.
I can’t find my way home.
Just beyond the candlelight, I
watch days slip into night, amidst
a maelstrom of discontent,
you never know what is meant.
Look over your shoulder. Look
further through your past.
I can’t find my way home.
Fistfuls of violence, mouthfuls
of reality escape. Thoughts which
should not be free, peace
should not be a luxury. I strike
a match to light up a candle,
to shine a light for hope.
I can’t find my way home.
©2017 j.g. lewis
Posted on October 27, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
We exist within a conundrum: a hollow promise,
less than a guarantee, with far too much fine print
and hyperbole disguising immodest claims by the
local chamber of commerce.
Selling features surpass the benefits
of living there or here, or wherever.
Often we question why we live
where we live.
It is greater than geography,
more than an address or identity.
Our company of cohorts and companions
changes over time.
We move, as do they.
How do we settle?
Location, location, uncertain destination,
what you see in the rearview mirror will
likely greet you further down the highway.
They say you can’t go back.
Yet, you usually do.
City to neighbourhood, dwellings or
simply shelter, we seek comfort. Or
contentment.
A place to sleep, to eat, or ignore
what goes on outside the window.
Across the street or 27 stories down below.
High-density urban sprawl, demographics,
economics, overpopulation, the mechanics
of increased consumption of once-precious
resources. We are all what we are made of.
Humanities: the quality or state of being.
Home is what, home is where, we make it.
Home is a place you accept
more than you will understand.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
Posted on October 23, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a commentGather, you beggars. Assemble
like pigeons, seeking morsels of kindness
on these filthy city streets. We notice but do not acknowledge.
Or apologize.
I cannot deal with all I see.
Any spare change? No answer. No chance.
I saunter by in my warm parka, well-rested, belly full
of breakfast. I know no hunger, though not immune
to the pang. Sunglasses shield my eyes.
I have witnessed too much.
There, but by the grace of God, go I.
They remain. Unrecognizable
even to those who have loved them. A person’s sister, somebody’s
brother, somebody’s child. A somebody;
another vacant bed or private hell
another excuse or story to tell.
We do not want to hear.
Nor dare to breathe. Ask no questions.
I am only what I ask myself to be. If
charity begins at home, what then of the homeless? Nothing.
I know where I will sleep tonight.
Ashamed. I do little but look away.
Filthy pigeons stare back.
Then scatter.
©2021 j.g. lewis