“Home”

This has more of an urban vibe to it. It lacks the usually solemn and medieval feel, but does not stray far neither from my typical viewpoint, nor from the message I had wanted to contour.

Enjoy.

“Home”

Life, no home
When one’s living it alone.

When the walls grow cold
In the cradle of summer,
When rage grows bold
And it tears playmates asunder,

When the lights die out
In the middle of the day,
When the voices fly aloud,
You’ll hear all the people say:

“Home is where the heart is” –
Yet, that’s not completely true;
They call me heartless,
But, my home is with you.

When water kills no thirst,
Shelter becomes unsafe –
Life, estranged and death, rehearsed
In the filth in which I bathe –

When life smiles broken
At the suffering betrayed,
Words that have been spoken
You’ll hear all the people say:

“Home is where you’re safest” –
Yet, that’s not completely true;
They call me reckless,
But, my home is with you.

When all the simple gods
Fade away forgotten,
When all the mundane clods
Lay down dead and rotten,

When the mighty bow down,
Surrender and obey,
You will hear the sound
Of dead people who say:

“Home is where you make it” –
Yet, that’s not completely true;
They call me worthless,
But, my worth is my own due

And my home is with you.

This entry was posted in "Poems".

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