A Poem About Escape-“There’s No Place Called Home”

I don’t wake up, I wake down
Waiting for a wind to lift me,
And drift me
Far above the ground.

I want to miss all I see
The hustle and bustle,
Pacing and racing
The angst, of just being.

Maybe I can dream a dream
I’m never forced to leave,
Where I feel nothing but love
A place, safe and serene

Where the yellow brick road
Would never end
Of frolic and fun,
And fair weathered friends.

There’d be no clicking my heels
Yearning to go back,
No running from witches
In tall black hats.

I’d feel more alive
In a sleeping state,
I’d feel more in control
With a life, I create.

I don’t want to anchor
I’d rather just roam,
I’d rather just be, in….
No place called home.

There’s no place called home.