Why is my mind but a planet
that circles around your sun
and these thoughts but a drop
in the vast ocean of my memory
will the needle in the haystack
ever prick the finger
of the farmers daughter?
like a dog at the feet of strangers
searching for your scent
pissing on territory
that is not his
love lost vagabond
searching for his way back home
into the hearts of the broken
while wondering. .
was it ever home?
what and where is home?
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