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;
The river rolls on
and asks me to believe in home.
The place beyond the in-between
I don’t know how I know.
I just know.