Homesick Poem by Mark Heathcote


Homesick, you're wearing clothes that are ill-fitting for you.
Chosen not by you, girl, you're a long way from home.
Oh, what can you do but let your heart bleed?
Value your soul above your master's chicken feed.

And let your eyes dream while watching the moonrise.
Girl, homesick are even these migrating skies.
That leaves you homesick a long way from home.
Oh, what can you do but let your tears flow?

And contemplate living or not going on.
Girl, you're masters in the slaving game.
And one day he'll be intent on selling you.
When your youth and beauty have been extinguished,

He'll grow bored with gifting you his precious gifts.
And even though he's like an unfeeling, petrified rock
You'll still feel homesick when he's gone.
When he's left you feeling empty and destroyed.

Like a sump pump with nothing left to give.
Oh, and girl, although you're a rare survivor,
You too will be left like hollowed-out granite stone.
Homesick: homesick a long way from home.

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