You say I have no heart,
No staying power, no motivation.
Ah, alas, alack, sir;
You are mistaken.
I have no heart for this,
only for this.
Your artifice of glass and steel,
A temple to money,
Moves me not.
For all its height,
It has not pith nor moment
In my mind.
Show me wide open spaces,
Vast plains where wild horses run
For miles and days,
'Til they forget they are horses.
Show me some remote cabin in woodlands
Where deer roam freely,
A tiny house that could be
More home to me than
Some sprawling suburban bungalow
That easily sleeps nine
Ever was.
There, maybe there,
Will you find my heart.
I'm happiest alone,
Not here, with people,
My heart in a cage,
The milk of my labours
For the profit of someone else.
Thumbnail image: The Gherkin, London