My Home


I will go home someday, to my home planet,

to the place where I belong, not here.

Nature is very large.  Mistakes are made.

And mistakes are corrected.


I was dropped off here by no honest intent,

just like a letter delivered to a wrong address.

I will be returned to my rightful place,

not by dying, because in my home death is not necessary.

It is not like the earthly heaven,

because heaven is too long to be real,

and as infinite in its boredom as its holy silence.

Where I live, all are healthy and kind.

There are no starving children,

        no selfish people of any age,

               no one is excessively proud or rich.

No one feels ashamed.


In my home everyone is both happy and sad,

happy for the blessing of life on a good planet,

full of grace,

sad for all those left on earthly rocks,

where time is a sentence to mystery and permanent injustice,

errors and losses as numerous as the stars,

therein a heavy breath of regrets as requisite as vital organs,

a way of living comprised of endless conflict,

technology that replaces any problem with three or four.


I may take memories of this place,

but I will not mourn any loss.

My home accepts love and its return.

All hearts are warm and strong.

Everyone has a brain and courage,

love for all that lives,

and a faith in life -- that it is good.

And that there is no end, no collapse,

no dissolution into nothingness.


At home in my home, I welcome you,

Unless there is something here you want to keep.

If there is something here, anything,

that you must keep, even your religion,

then it is here you will stay,


                       -- John H. Medeiros  July 2018


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