Tripping

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Is this the place we call home?
Where shadows loom and brothers fight
where ghosts of past mistakes still roam
where love assumed can only kiss or bite
and a pass of eyes can pierce through stone
Is it here that we call home?

Is this the place we call Earth?
Here revolves a lonely moon, while nations spar
over land and fuel that is not ours
where 4 A.M. poetry will never matter much,
'cause the world is large, loud and tough
and I'm so small
and if it were Mars and beyond
we could touch,
would we even change at all?
Is it here that we call home?

Is this the place we call space?
A void of cold, dark rocks and empty stars
where our smallness, our own impending dissolution
are always in our face
the stars laugh as we say we'll make a change,
'cause as we evolve, they stay just the same
we could expand, into the cosmos we could ride
but the Universe is indifferent;
one day every star will die

Is this what we call life?
The ultimate gift and its unending strife
a fantastic coaster stopped mid-ride
Is it divine or just blind luck?
If it all ended, would anybody out there give a f***?
If God is real, why the need for priests and pedophiles
—for slaves and scientists?
Is this just a glimpse of all there is?
Where has all the curiosity gone?
Are we just afraid to meet our ends?
Could we be the last ones left unknown?
We all need love and breath,
we all have friends
we all need a place to call our own
Is this flesh what we call home?
It doesn't hurt me not to know;
the real pain is in thought
I am all alone





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