My Home Poem by Jesse Tampa

“Home, Sweet Home, ” what do those words mean to me?
The only home I’ve encountered, isn’t a mansion by the sea
It’s not a trailer with cheap cable TV

No, my home cannot be labeled as some blocks or some wood
If my home was labeled a house now that doesn’t sound too good
That’s not rightly proper, to appear as it should

I was born and raised in South County through and true
And discovered very quickly I had no home, so I felt blue
For 21 years have passed me by here I see shades of old and new

Here I will tell you the location and what my home means
My home is not located near that golf course green
My home is not in Mira Bay where houses reign supreme

My home is not a house at all in fact
I will elaborate now, and keep my thoughts in tact
For it can be said of me a pile of my thoughts is stacked

My home is in South County, yes, but it’s portable you know
It isn’t something I can point at and exclaim “Here you go! ”
It’s a coveted blessing that I can speak of but not show

For my home is the chamber beating the blood through the veins of my wife’s life

I rest my head upon her chest and listen to the beat at night
It’s the place where I feel most safe and right
It is the most beautiful vision I’ve ever held within my sight

My home is in her heart and that is where I make my being
No other “home” could capture my attention or be worth even seeing
And from her ticker I could never picture myself fleeing

My home is not a building, it is my Kara Lee
My home is as consistent as the buzzing of a bee
Kara’s love makes my warm and happy, even this a blind man could see

6-28-2009