The fire in my soul burns for Ireland.
Green hills and rolling meadows.
The sweet smell of the air after the rains.
The melodic quality of Irish voices.

I am adrift in America.

A sea of people losing their culture,
re-inventing themselves and their histories.
I have no history to re-invent, only one to discover.
I have no culture to lose, only one to remember.

My soul is adrift in America.

I don�t say I believe in past lives per se,
whatever that means.
If you were to ask me, �Have you lived before?�
Yes! Categorically and without hesitation.
Yes! In the lives of my forefathers and mothers.
In Ireland, I am sure of it.

Life is a process.
I am here not by accident but by design.
My genealogical history provides links in a chain
of spiritual growth and development.

It�s as though I set out on a journey so long ago
that I don�t remember its beginning or its exact purpose.
I do know that I am part of a larger legion.
This part of our mission fulfilled
we are beckoned home.

The fire in my soul burns for Ireland.
A place I have never seen.
The smells of which have never passed my nose.
The sounds of which I do not know.
The connection to which I can not deny.
Adrift in America, I must go home.


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Copyright �1995 by Tom Grogan. All rights reserved.
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic � First Journey (Sept. 2000)
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