Elegy for a Lost Home
My mind can't rest; it's a feather that sits with the dust and souls in a treasure chest.
People detest, cast stones amongst children who only taste the sweet taste of death.
My mind can't rest; my kin have cried, "Open the door, let us out!" Their tears now whisper somber sounds, disappearing safe and sound, for their home is where they vanish. My brother, my sister, I'm...