I long for the land from which I came
Where a simple man without any distinction
Can roll freely down the subtle declivities of his mind
And walk unburdened by unwieldy, hypertrophied dreams
Where crops harvested on a farmer’s field speak enough science
To measure the meaning of the earth and wing birds over mountains
Where endless horizons permit you to live free from imposed liberations
And facts are not organized into gangs that hunt down and disfigure the truth
A place where it never seems to anyone that he is just another ticking embolus
Drifting through the infinitely bifurcating arteries of an atherosclerotic society
Where months are not torn from our lives like tattered flesh from cracked ribs
In the glistening air-conditioned purgatories business schools have designed
Where I can gaze over the old familiar lines of the places where I belong
And no one cares if the picture on the wall hangs a little crooked
Where people’s minds are like trees that never stop growing
And the soil is rank and fertile with honest words
In quiet rustling forests of flaming souls
Who believe in impossible things
Blair Bourassa 