Beyond

In colder climes and harder beds,
Awake, alive, oppression sheds.

A barren road ‘pon which I stare.
The simple gifts of this no-where.

To what end? To what for?
Where are those that I adore?

Not here, not there, but maybe home.
I cross this void all alone.

What good is this great beyond?
The set of freedom, faith and fond.

Without the sight of home, of kin.
The warmth and comfort felt within.

The binding of a mind and heart.
What meaning does this road impart?

The comforts held at such great cost.
The fear that they can soon be lost.

What good then is any place?
How does it play my love and grace?

Arrived alone and leave the same.
But in this journey, finding blame.

Are these but tricks of the mind?
Or are they means to help me find,

Those things for which I keep so dear?
Those things for which are always near?

The way I think, the way I feel?
These abstracts are more than real.