To Those I love.
I have been foolish,
Thinking now, that I have found,
The simplest and yet best,
Of all things.

I have no home where I was raised,
There is too much loss there,
The ocean of rippling pain,
That this place has become, threatens to swallow me.

And the peace found in the place that I now live,
Is not real and this place cannot be a home,
That idea shattered like cheap glass,
By bitter tears and angry voices.
Crushed to powder by knives in the back and bloody hands.

I have seen almost all,
Of higher learning that I want to see,
I am made sick by the hypocrisy of it,
And the places that it has taken me.

I want to find a home,
A place unknown even now,
A place where I can be myself,
Where there are no bright tears and bloody smiles.

So I’m packing my bags again,
Don’t know when I’ll be back,
I’m not even sure that I am coming back,
This is this and that is that.

Will I find a home?
I doubt it,
But I have to look, please understand,
And I have to look alone,
No matter who I love.

Good stuff, GC, as ever. It starts off quite morbid, and the idea of someone on their deathbed sprung to mind, but then the sense of a hope and a quest beginning ends the poem nicely. I particularly like the line 'This is this and that is that' - it smacks of no-nonsense and puts the reader and poet in their respective places.