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I was walking home

But my home was gone

Long time ago

Just some gravel remained

And I felt the pain

The end was near

So I went into a room

And suddenly boom

It all returned

Like nature wanted me to learn a reason

To be and burn

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Ithaca

Navigating in a garden

That used to be

Well known to me

I realized

That I actually

Was a stranger

All the time

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Home

The plan was to leave

But instead I am stuck

In this dirty house

Filled with frustration

And unwashed clothes

Nobody is happy

Nobody has the energy

To leave this hell

Well deserved of course

But still strong enough

To keep you stuck

Our own home is ultimately

Our own prison

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El Camino

It is a long

Journey to home

Some of us might

Never reach there

But it is when we are

Trying that things

Become meaningful

Still without love

Home is no home

Even if it would be

Neighbor to Paradise

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Frozen Ground

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This is my land

And it is frozen

Cold, frigid, unfriendly

Built on wrath and frustration,

By determined people

Frugal, sterile land

Of slow living

I was born here

But this land is not my land

This land just bore my weight

I did not grow here

Just barely survived

So I could grow where

I truly belong

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Returning

I live in the north

In the land of small hills

And a lot of trees

Some blue lakes

And a lot of lonely and cold people

I wanted to leave but somehow

I am stuck here

First time I went back it was, Because of the language

The second time because Of my career

The third time out of desperation

The fourth time out of frustration

The fifth time has not happened yet

But it will

This is life in the far north

A place where the ice and snow

Is absent

The place where your soul freezes to ice

Take my advice

Stay out