Why do you sleep?
I’m tired.
You must be old?
As old as the hills.
The hills?
The hills of home.
And where is home?
My home is in my heart
And when my heart is broken,
I wander homeless
Through the passages of night,
Screaming to keep myself awake.
Roy William Gotaas
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/refugee-7/
