Don't get too comfortable;
This world is not your home.

Well, obviously it is;
From the lights in the sky
To the dust on the ground,
Every last piece of it
Whispers it to you,
In those moments when life
Is not so clamorous,
"You were made for this place,
A secret garden, with treasures,
Planted just for you,
With plenty to go around.
"Even the dirt is your canvas,
Just as it was once already.

Yet this same world
Is now hostile.

"You are not welcome here",
The main refrain now hissed
From once friendly openings
In the rocks and trees,
And also in the jungles we built,
All echoing
That first door slammed shut.

You are not welcome
Amongst your people;
Their love so distant,
Their disdain now closing in.
The same ones
Who shared bread with you
Around a common table.

You are not welcome
In your body;
That supreme work of art,
Your main abode,
Turned into a prison,
Which reminds you daily,
That you don't match up.

You are not welcome
Even in your own soul,
For every time you close your eyes
To visit your safe place,
The lights are always off;
Though you can't remember
Flipping the switch.

Perhaps though the magic is real?
Not the magic of power and manipulation,
But the magic of love,

The kind that sits with us
In every situation,
And never quits;
The kind that only small children
Believe in (at least out loud);

The kind that opens cell doors,
And breaks down borders,
That makes the lions our friends,
And our enemy our brother;

The kind that sees us truly,
And calls our name
And turns our head
And shines a light
In dark spaces;

The kind that restores
Our dignity
And covers our shame;

The kind that makes this
Sad old world
Begin to resonate once again,
And calls us to feel it too.

Don't get too comfortable;
This world is not your home,
But it will be.