my home
is
my two favorite blankets
wrapped around me tight to chase off the cold of night
my home
is
watching from far above the street
at night as the snow falls silently down
disturbing nothing
home is
hurricane sandy, Irene, and the most recent of storms blowing bye
and when I awake all is a humid calm a
home is power outages
and being snowed in
home is not Christmas morning
home is having every morning
alive just like the last
home isn't thanksgiving dinners
home is dinners on the couch with a good book
home is often cold
and almost never filled with life
except when I write
then my home fills with the sounds of laughter and music
then and only then does it harbor that warm happy glow that makes a house home
I created my home
not out of memories
of Easter egg hunts
and family party's
not out of Christmas mornings
and thanksgiving dinner
rather I made my home out of words
brick by brick
from the corner stone I wrote into existence the home i never had
I wrote stories of times I never had
of a family i thought I maybe deserved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice imagery and touched well written thanks for sharing