For It's a Home

A home is not a structure of brick, wood or stone. For it's a place of love, something I've always known. It shares my fondest memories of laughter, joy and spite.The thought of true safety which helps me sleep at night. I love my home dearly. It shields me from the cold.The yellow tinted walls that bring me a stable hold. Past the stained curtain, a charming room awaits. It's a loving sense of care my moms warm embrace. The living room shares no emotions of delay, the thought of unhousing and for this I pray. This building is my home, every wall, brick,wood and stone.I do not wish for a mansion or a pool sized room , i just want the summer, to see the flowers bloom.Yet Curled in thick fabric I watch the frozen world.Window stained with breath,hides me from the cold.The syrup splattered roof challenging the oncoming storm,it creaks and sways,insuring im warm.So if summer wont reach and neither the sun,like issues in life im not the only one.for people who call home a bridge bush or tent. I want them to know its not permanent ,for its not a grieved shelter to roam, it's an area of love, a place to call home.