Where We Belong

Where we belong is called the ground,
for it holds those who feel broken,
and can heal the less outspoken.
Where we belong can still be found,
in our poetry, or its sound.
Try to make it be sweet music,
either with soft notes playing quick.
Where we belong can change weather,
try to be fickle like feather
don’t choose sides, be liquid and quick.

Where we belong, can words define?
can poetry tell of it all?
Will it be real or just appall?
I bet you know it won’t align,
not even metaphors benign.
Where we belong, horses have lived,
evil genius never outlived.
There, there’s God, man and then there’s hell,
so I’ve read when bad rings the bell.
Something tried and never outlived

Ruddapoet

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