The Refugee

Lost in the memories of last June,

Like a butterfly hidden within a cocoon

Oh, what a skill of darkness and of doom,

For wherever she lies she can see the same moon.


Though she can’t smell the musk

She still tastes the husk of dust in these thirsty waters…

But still there comes no rain

When in her pain – she whispers the names….

….of her lost daughters…


Just like the wild wind that caresses her hair,

Her soul lives neither here nor there,

But when again she looks back at them to stare,

She fears to gaze, her homely graze

The native land that left her nude and bare.


Eternity spins in her thoughts as she wonders,

“How could I have forsaken my homeland for this blunder?”

But when lightening falls from her heart asunder,

How she must ache to leave her new home,

Yet, she needs to stay here for so much longer.


Because hope and peril can toil with pain,

When you regret the ones who have left behind their names…

And even still as the refugee’s rain harder upon this land,

Does our British heritage dry up as they hit our soil and sand?

For I know she fools herself it was heart ache

– From the day she left that man there,

But her heart is frozen still, as she tries to find the will

…to forgive that land and forget there.


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