Home-sick

We take the names we once possessed,
and lay them 'pon our eyes to rest,
for they may see the soul as star.

Though we walk tired, we march far.


Are we now doomed for all etern',
seek we no more, yet, still we yearn?
Like dead, the crows lead our way,
farther more on paths astray.

So look we back to sorry lot,
we were not child, though grew we not.
What's left from there, what we once knew,
but many crows and from us few?


Forgotten, the names we never deserved.
Faded, the eyes from souls unnerved;
Are we but a face in dust of our time.

So we walk bleak from what was us prime.


We are but crumbs for crows to pick,
naught more than restless, wicked, sick.
Tired of a world unknown;
The world to which our home has grown.