Surrounded by sound
"Feed me, feed me, feed me,"
(Why do I feel so alone?)
Dry and dirty and covered with hurt,
Working to live and living to work,
Empty and aching, but no one to call
Lonely-and-lost is a hard place to fall.
(Home seems so far away.)
Where is the joy? the breath? the spark
that quickens the heart in the midst of the dark?
In a touch or a memory, a kiss or a laugh?
In a painting, a song, or a past photograph?
I pile up the smiles like a miser who files
His treasures away on in-between days ...
... Until finally they come.
(And just for awhile, it feels like home.)