Half Way House

Seeing paradise always in another’s gaze,
who keep it private and don’t let any trespassing,
except if you sell them your brain
and then use your heart for their pillow.

Stranded in the demolition section of life
left to live in a home that isn’t really a home,
because I am a visitor and one not wanted,
so again along the paths I’ve trod
happiness is a place not found,
trapped in the abodes
that become a world of squandered seconds.

Dreams hang on the wall of my head
of perfect residences and castles,
they are the strings of hope’s golden thread
I wrapped around myself.

Before me are the shadows of pillars
from all the power brokers
who don’t do other than tease
while keeping gold and gems in a vault.

Though the dangling them as bait
if I will become their slave,
sometimes succumb to the need
for not seeing all my destinations turn mirages,
still not convinced that filling in the gaps
where I look at the place I want to be
and know it is still out of reach.