Pails.

We carry away our troubles in old rusty pails,
riddled with holes; much like the sails
on our ships- tattered and in need of repair.
Land in the distance, but can we get there?

A home is a home is a home is a home isn't home
until there are people enough
to fill it all up.

The sun is the sun and the stars are suns, too,
just like everyone shines: the many; the few.

Brave beyond a capable measurement of merit,
if the world is not meek than who shall inherit
all of this green, and all of this blue:
take what is yours even if
it doesn't belong to you.

A home is a home is a home is a home is a...
lie is a lie is a lie, all a lie when the
cards fall face-down;
when the deck is stacked,
nothing but jokers to be found.