The Land In-between

The matrix rages beneath the skin and I am trapped.

So this is the land in-between.

The rose unfurls beneath a skin that longs to fall,

yet the chipped paint of a girl gone by

tethers me to yesterday.

A day I no longer choose.

Absolute quiet awaits behind the curtain of truth.

Bliss calls, and yet the world of illusion screams

so that always I must return.

I ask them: ‘where is home?’

and they ask me where I think I am

if I am not already home.

Who else knows the light behind these eyes?

Who else feels the rose opening within,

when so many see only a garden of falsehoods;

of black and white;

of right and wrong;

of normal,

of insane?

The river rolls on 

and asks me to believe in home.

The place beyond the in-between

is home.

I don’t know how I know.

I just know.