The warm bed lying in the sun ,the cold sidewalk shadowed by the moon,
The clean water flowing from the tap, the dirty water flowing from the rill
These are the homes of the houseful and the houseless for they may not have to pay the same bill,home is not a place it is a feeling of warmth in the cold, it is the oasis in the barrens, it is the hope in war, it is love of a thousand men , it is the tree in the pouring rain, it is the place where man and beast lay to rest,it is the salvation of the hunted, it is the morsel of food in the prison, it is where man and beast are safe, it is where the man fells mighty trees to live.
Home is places where people forgive and be forgiven, where their sins dissipate, and their love blossoms, and foul words and venomous tidings are thrown in the infinite abyss of eternal black nothingness. It is the feeding grounds of hope, the breeding grounds of compassion, and where darkness goes to die. It is a land of love and light, of hope and care, of food and drink,yet people say this is what the streets lack,yet man and beast view them as the supplies on their backs, the rivers of hope carving through the black rock of hate and despair, the creatures revere the black asphalt as a healer and a lover. It is where the love of man grows but its hate is cast away into the black abysses it creates. That is what home means to many people salvation in a cold war or light in the dark.