Here I am a nomad seeking homes
In stranger's hearts on foreign shores:
Here shall I place my house of sand -
And nurse it carefully, strand by strand -
And watch it melt, as I walk away,
Once more into the land,

Caring little for the pain
Of loss and all our parting; the strain
That lovers far must feel is absent,
Knowing full well I am not absent
So long as I return, some far-off day,
Bearing gifts, in place of love, magnificent;

And soothe the hearts of those who are
Nomads less and settlers more
Longing for my laugh, by day the star
Of skies that, barren, seek horizons far
From lives without purpose, without sway:
Sometimes I wonder who these people are

Who cling to me but are not mine
Anymore than circles can be lines
Bent and twisted into shape:
Forced, in pain, to bear the face
Of some unthinkable alien race,
When all I long for is my own.

Your wounds are yours, I long to cry;
Your world is yours; how can you make it mine?
And to my questions, you stare back blankly -
Faceless, soulless, so frighteningly empty -
As you clap me in chains and drag me back
To bury me in my broken house of sand.

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