Monday Poem: “Do not love the World”

“Do not love the World”

Dust swooped and full of hustle and bustle.

It’s similar to other places yet different.
I call it home, but it’s not really home.
In fact, I’m not sure where home is
at this point in life. Is it this dusty town?
Where is home? A question that destines
a nomad’s life for those who have no place
to lay their head. Am I one of those steppe
wanderers? The ones you read about in
the epics of the Scythians? I pull to a stop and
sit in a little tucked corner in my favorite spot,
I plant a stake in the concrete and claim
it for god and galaxy. And I stare out the window
of the brewery next door to my coffee shop ,
I see the wind blowing aimlessly in the leaves
not knowing where its going, and I say to myself,
“God, I wish I was the leaves and not the wind.”