Who could that be?

Who could that be?
Solid and warm to the touch,
as natural as it was,
as familiar as a dream?

Who maintains these heartbeats?
When a message is received,
the flesh that withholds
the clues that can't be told?

Who would that be?
An afternoon fantasy?
A phantom made out of light
sifting through the leaves?

Could that be me?

Who cares.

I think I've been wrong,
mistaken being weak with strong.
All the judgements & indignations,
yet taken no actions.
There's the sense of loss,
plus the rage & escapes.
But why am I still here?
Just to stand around?
Maybe I will be happy, by chance,
to help someone, anyone.
It's always been an excuse,
that "I felt deeply, & cared too much."


The ones that belong here
no longer belong here.
Those that pretend to belong here
were made to remain here.
Those that belong here spiritually
don't get to be here peacefully.
Those that need to be here materially
get to destroy here completely.
Who belongs here?
Long journey where?