Where I dwell
Is forest, lake and moss
Is grass and mud
And paths well tracked
Renewed with rain
Yet strain and pain
Are the stained glass
In the window
My face is pressed against.

When I dwell
On past and present
Voices raised and mocking
Feelings disregarded
Pistols raised and cocking
Bullets trained
The strain and pain
Are the kevlar
Cross my heart
Hope not to die.

Where I dwell
Is heart, love and trust
Is hope for happiness
In skies of black;
A calling bird
A mystic word
A song I heard
Whilst walking
Paths well tracked.

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