You build a home, it collapses on you

You build a home, it collapses on you

It is better to find shelter next to a rock or hill

For those cannot be knocked in to kill you

Or sleep on the ground,

And assume you won't be stepped on.

Those so keen of self-protection

Who build uneasy roofs and shabby walls

Even taking the energy to design

It is foolishness,

Nothing lasts forever.

In a land so full and bustling

Lifestyle revolving around new trade

Slow die men of cowardice

Hiding in boxes,

Never letting go of anything.

Long live sore-footed travelers

Goods brought from farthest lands

Daring thievery, disloyalty, physical pain

Or heartbreak,

Whatever torment life delivers

Wanderers resilient regardless

Overcoming and homefree

Lady on the knoll with her trinkets

Lady on the knoll with her trinkets

She's no means of moving

But what good is transport when here lay her possessions

Paranoia protects the tangibly accumulated

Trading fewer and fewer memories

She is trapped here with them

Or lost without

She hoards her life in pieces and things

An Excerpt from 'How Edward's Hand Felt,' MFAU

The stem emerges two inches above the world

Nowhere near any area that should allow it

Elle considers with a fingertip

Wild life growing in a desolate place

Where bloem are scarce, the only plant around

Surviving from underground

Reason of how is unattainable

Reason of good and bad, immaterial

Her eyes penetrated Edward

She plucked the stem without flinching

And he watched her toy with it pointlessly

Finally tearing it into itty-bitty pieces