X Marks the Spot

I came so many miles
Looking for an echo of home,
Following the aroma of wood fires,
Threshed grass, and turned earth;
The trip was worth all I owned:
All I’d built. All I’d earned.
I landed first in a place
Wearing the face of all I remembered,
But underneath the disguise,
Corruption, coldness, lies, suspicion
Dismembered the little bit
I had left to hold
Before I got away.

This place became the grave marker
For my last belief in home,
Or decent men,
Or my tender treasures of soul.

I am becoming something different now
The kind of thing they abused and tossed aside,

A thing surviving,

Wiser, but I find myself
Wishing I’d saved myself;

I wish I’d kept on driving.

I wonder how many men
Build their world on others’ bones?

Probably all the ones who build.
Can any structure survive time
Standing on such wicked foundations?

I hope not.
I hope, in time, they receive their bill.

God knows.