Somewhere where your soul can breathe
Feel at ease, slumber sweetly;
Somewhere all the demons cease
Their constant, distant bleating;
Somewhere morning gently breaks
With sun and dew and promise,
Where the Sahara and the seagulls mix
In your lazy, waking moments;
Somewhere the bruises finally fade
And the pressed-in faces, with them:
Like the silence of your mother’s womb
And its safe and sound protection;
Somewhere filled with library books
And time enough to read them,
A fresh cut lawn to lie upon…
….Or sand, to dig your toes in;
Somewhere where the lines aren’t drawn
And the map is of your making,
Where there is peace, at long, long last;
And the patient hands of healing.