in parentheses

You are a hero in your own home, silent in your room, back bent, hours fly with visions opening and closing ideas foreign and liberating inspirations yours and another’s, no one  pays visit to your country, from the framed border they ridicule they laugh they spit at the very thought of you someone apart, but your country you shall never forsake for theirs, but in the quiet between passing words wondering beneath a sky of doubt a monument of regret a tree of fear, but then pass on a single flame in the valley forming