Pasts

Nostalgia is a strange exotic beast
That calls us from our homes - or calls our homes
No homes at all, but something that has ceased
To do us justice, as the heart now roams
In distant half-forgotten lands. I see
A past that never was and yet I feel
As if it were what I would always be
And though it ought to be a bit surreal
Instead it seems as if it were correct,
As if the past I know I lived were wrong
And this alone, beyond my intellect,
Were how it really had been all along
Only the strong insistence of my will
Can make the visions fade, my heart grow still.