The Land of Virtue

I’m from a spot in between two states which are actually the same,

From one country where pride became synonymous with shame.

 

I’m from the makeshift den in the branches of oak trees,

From yellow rape fields humming with swaying bumble bees.

I’m from amidst the old fruit trees in our family’s garden,

From the question what has become of them; I beg your pardon?

 

I’m from the cobble stone streets covered in dirt,

From the air which is grey and where breathing will hurt.

I’m from a nearby coal fired power plant.

But complaining about the conditions we shan’t.

 

I’m from summers spent on the shores of the Baltic sea,

From family gatherings when I still was me.

I’m from the peacefulness of my cousins’ company,

From a derelict barn with tunnels dug into the hay.

 

I’m from a land with real existing socialism, how adorable!

From a country slid into post capitalism, how deplorable!

I’m from an ineptitude that borders on the imbecilic,

From a need to learn which made me become bibliophilic.

 

I’m from the pictures in our family’s photo treasure trove,

From a dusty shelf near the ancient living room stove.

 

I’m from the back seat of a little funny plastic car,

From dad who drove mum to their first date in a local bar.

 

I’m from the past that shaped me,

From the present that I am today,

And from the future that lies ahead of me.