Roots

There was a place I did not call home,
Where with masks on and swords drawn people did roam,
Where living was an acclivity,
A fight to preserve sanity.
And the eyes did search for the green,green grass home.

Yet this brokedown palace of sorts
Became my saviour of last resorts.
The sky was mine,the trees too,
The roads and faces I belonged to,
For I no longer needed a mirror to find myself there.

As I came back to my roots,
Yet a part of me it did uproot.
For while your roots grow deeper,
Your branches expand,
Like a banyan tree it doth stand.

Home is where the heart is,they say.
But what if your heart was in more places than one?
Would bliss be amiss,I wonder,
would you come undone?
Or would fragments of you be brought together as one?