Where the Heart Is
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Has the innocence of darkness revealed the truth to us?
“Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason, prisoner?”
Oh, courteous home, thou provides food for my belly,
but on my soul, thou dost feast.
Oh, merciful home, thou provides a bed for me,
yet steals what little slumber my poor eyes purchase.
Oh, thou trusted home sheltering promises of warmth,
yet with such wrath dost thou greet me.
Oh, harmonious home wrought with peace,
the same that raged within my being.
Oh, revered home thou has christened your heir a foe,
alas, leavened warriors draw the blood of kin.
Oh, luminous home clothed with darkness,
the same that wrestled my heart’s fire.
Oh, happy home toppled with sorrow,
beckoning my troubled head to lay on its frail shoulders.
Oh, tender shelter, shall I come to thee?
Or a wanderer forever be?
Oh, sweet ignorance thou knowest not what home is
but chooses a pit endowed with tare that rips my soul limb from limb.
Has the innocence of darkness revealed the truth unto us?
Or does insanity wait on our tables?
Reference:
Shakespeare, William. Macbeth. Wordsworth Editions, 1992.
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