Care-Taker
if I could point my lens to the sky
& see them leave
maybe I would be less lonely,
to forsake our mother-earth must be a sin
but why does it hurt mostly
we who are left behind?
how can I feel so strange & stranded
when it is I who remain on familiar ground
I who will touch the patina of relics
soaked thru with our blood-history, our glory
our stepping stones to the stars?
there is so much sorrow in memories
pain & anguish the mind holds
~ they will eat at me like a cancer,
a mold growing spreading in humid corners
surcease comes not in these phantoms
I rebel at desertion
I insist on an entry a visa
I was not educated to be a curator of the museum.
Copyright 2006 njTare
