A 20 line poem written for The Writer's Cramp prompt, 9/11/19
| Call From Home
I yearn for the land where I should be
And the wind is calling from home,
for in the place where I'm living these days,
it seems I'm forever alone.
There must be a land out there somewhere
in which there's a way I will fit;
I need to get moving and head to this place
or in despair I think I will quit.
The air in this place is so toxic,
relationships seem like a sham;
profit rules over the way that we live,
it's accepted to con and to scam.
I won't need a boat or an airplane
for this call is from galaxies, far;
an interstellar express train
will carry me back to that star.
I yearn for the place that I should be
and the wind is calling from home;
until I can journey back to this place
I'm destined forever to roam.
(20 line poem)