Poetry

Home

Home

is any place that makes you forget the world is on fire

 

Home

is that park bench right by the rose bush

Lila planted for her husband

before she too left this earth.

Home

is where we realize we are always loved.

 

Home

is the back of my pickup truck

where you laid next to me and pointed out

galaxies and worlds far away.

Home

is where we realize that we are never really alone.

 

Home

is at the seat of my old piano

where I would turn any pain the world gave me

into sweet, sweet melodies.

Home

is where we realize that sorrow can be beautiful

 

Home

is that old church roof-top we climbed last summer

vowing we would never forget each other

before we all went our separate ways.

Home

is where we realize that endings can be happy

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