The British Immigrant


So spend your life discovering who you are and what you're about,
To eventually find you're the person you were when you left here.
Though mountains have been climbed and souls deemed to be found,
Maybe you haven't changed year after year.

Those long journeys running from nothing;
But England's blood-soaked raincoat. All but in vein my dear.
For you are part of the cause of your distain with your homeland.
The home which you were born and raised by,
You use an excuse, disguised as fear.

You shall return to find that all your adventures
will be but dust as your joints and gristle will turn to rust
and all the people you can trust just disappear.

You'll forget as age does dement you,
Those foreign lands of virtue, can't be recalled,
Even aided by cue. All you'll have is here.

Where love was first found
Where you first saw snow hit the ground .
Where all your foundations were constructed.
Where your insecurities were first abducted
Where your first visions were perceived
Where you first decided to leave

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem