I dream of the old country,
Not with nostalgia, but in fear of
the grip it had on me while I was there;
Always the traveler, always lost-always
looking for directions...
I surrendered myself to you and your
ways.
And it was always you, not them, not us
but you,
Not as a host but as a jailer, holding
me against my will,
Drowning in your hospitality and your
rain,
Soaked to the bones with your desire,
Tricked again by your magic..
In the half light, under the cracked
fanlight and street lamp,
Whipped by the wind and enveloped by
the fog,
Is that the sunrise over the hills?
Barely discernible like a ghost by the grave,
Or my soul, the departed, faithfully
leaving me behind in the dark?
I dream of you now, won't you please
let me go..
Loosen your grip, you loveless hag,
barren countryside
and naked trees, no love no comfort, no
way home.
I dream of the old country, and hope I
awake,
I was born far from here, my dreams
have been stolen,
The soft rain, thank God, is washing my
soul clean,
The clouds form and close in over me,
Free from my memories, I slip quietly
away.
The Old Country, no country, no land of
mine, no return, no...
© 2015 Dr. Liam Leonard (photo
copyright as noted).
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