I balance words on my tongue

Rolling letters against teeth

Scraping sentences built up

And waters stale with grief.

As eyes marked with luggage

Heavier than sleep

Are carried away

Blinking dust and counting sheep.

For what is peace

When sounds are cheap

And fingers lie awake

Intertwined and steep;

They rest on cheeks

And breathe.

For what is peace

When all we see

Are enslaved hearts

Told they’re free?

What can we say

When home

Is why they’re refugees?