At War

He straddles two worlds.
Caught in between;
One where he lives and yet is never satisfied
And another to which he aspires, yet never finds acceptance.
A wanderer’s heart
A nomad’s soul
He has no loyalty to any piece of soil.
He longs to belong
But his feet cannot settle.
He dreams of rest
For his ambitions haunt him by day,
His frustrations by night.
Torment.
Raging against the sun
For not shining brighter,
Cursing the darkness
For not hiding his nakedness.
Exposed.
Nowhere to hide
Yet feeling invisible
Nowhere to run
But wanting to flee.
A man at war with contentment
For to him, he sees complacency.
Duped, it seems, by the prospects of the future
That today is seldom fully lived out.
A man at war with his past, present and future self.
Silently raging on.

‘Oh that i had
the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at
rest-
I would flee far away
And stay in the desert;
I would hurry to my place
Of shelter,
Far from the tempest and
storm.”
-Psalm 55:7,8