A HOME OF OUR OWN.

There is a place for us;
A space made by the self righteous
Who subsequently abandoned it
As it wasn’t good enough
For them,
But what is?

And as you would expect,
From the pharisaic,
It’s a perfect
Desire,
But obviously not for the pious,
Who left it for higher ground,
Apparently.

So now it’s even more flawless
As there are no intolerant followers there,
No opinionated minions,
No virtuous worshipers,
No religions or chieftains
Or fever,
Only the leaves
In autumn
And the trees
That brought them
Into being
In spring,

And soon
There’ll be me
And you.