Can you find the way home

when darkness starts falling down

and the snows cover the trails

and the little candle goes out?


Can you see what cannot be seen

or touch the burning coals,

follow the bubbling stream

and a path you don’t know?


Can you heal the broken pieces

with nothing but your hands

like glass, shattered, everywhere

picking up the jagged shards?


Can you reach the tower cozy

if the stairs fall apart at once

you step and try to find

a winding spiral up the sky?


Is it love when there’s so much hatred

disguised, but a throbbing heart?

Is it memory when so much faded

of the warmth we thought we had?


Where’s Home, I am asking?

But the Sky is mocking gray.

Winter’s blowing frozen kisses

and Home has never been

more distant, more away…


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