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Home… #poetry #poem


What is home?

Home is not tied to the land where we live,
the country we’re born or the people we’re with.
We build our new homes on land where we stand,
do we get more if majestic or grand?

More home in a mansion, than house or a flat?
Some people will float on boat with a cat.
A caravan large, and a caravan small,
even a motorhome; the name says it all.

Some live in a tent, or even in snow.
But that’s not quite true, Just think, and you’ll know.
That leaves the street, for those named – Home-less.
If thats’s not enough, we can always oppress.

A tunnel, a bridge, a doorway’s alright.
A place to lay down, a “home” for the night.
So a home is not in, the places we build,
but rather, within, a hole to be filled.

A home to be happy, or even be sweet.
That doesn’t quite fit with those on the street.
Some people can’t wait till they get back home,
others they dread, or fear being alone.

So home is a feeling that needs to be fed,
not just a place where we lay our head.
It matters not even if happy or sad,
so long as we feed it, the good or the bad.

Can we control it, this feeling of home?
Whether in group , or standing alone.
Or are we its servant, its slave if you will.
To never quite manage, its hunger – fulfil.




A § M

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