Home

A place. A place where you are sheltered. Sheltered from the hate and havoc of the outside. And embraced by warmth and tenderness. Where you can relax and take off the mask. Do as you please and be freed. Where faint memories roam the halls, Past images are projected on the walls. Where there are echoes of voices and laughter. And emotions are marbled into the floors. This place may not have walls, a floor or halls Nor be a house. This place could be A car, The street, A shelter. The park bench, And opposed to being embraced by warmth, Many shiver in the cold, Reminded of past loved ones, Whom only their spirit meanders in circles, And without them it is not the same This place only brings them pain. This place is a reminder to plenty That they do not have enough food to fill their belly. And opposed to the joyous sounds of laughter, Silence and screams are engraved into every square inch, Disrupting the comfort and peace. However there is always hope, Always a way to cope. A way to help. A way to light fire For those whom their fire has been extinguished. This place is marinated in so many Memories, sounds and smells. The smell of mom’s homemade pie in the air, And so many sounds and feels everywhere. Where we have gathered. Where we have laughed. Lost and gained. Comfort and pain. And no two places are the same, For each memory, image voice and scent is unique And the place I speak? This place is home.