A Marginal Being

They call me
a marginal being

an island
between the continents

transplanted
in this Pac Mac culture
from the land of morning calm.

Silent in anguish
in my dreams I speak Korean 
to my childhood friends and
English to my new world friends.
In color or black and white.

In my waking hours
I count the time backward
unable to proclaim my rights
to live anywhere
between the two worlds

with fear
I may be stoned to death
by the tribes of two continents
whose plastic smiles and
false promises
poisoned
the last portion of my faith.