The quest for a home

1 minute read

Shifting eyelids in the murmurs of chaos, I
found a dead flower brown in the dirt of yesterday.
Seeking solace in his arms I slept over, home
reeks of the harrowing echoes of my silence.
And trust me, I try, to fill it or flood it, with
music, poetry, tears, colors, pain, paper, people, but
Home still longs for glitter in my eyes from a time
that reflects my dearest faces with gentler hands.
I see cracks growing past the feeble binds I have made
in playgrounds, classrooms, bars and bedrooms, distance
Is absolute in a world built out of difference and difference
lures away parts of me I planted in you to protect.
What do I do, with this time bomb of questions? Tell me
how I can rest and bake an aroma to cleanse
the muck money has left behind in me. Or simply just
remind me of when a flutter of butterflies came sniffing?
How can I tell if I can ever escape these parallel bars, so
I could go wandering in a quest to seek what I seek?
Where is it that I fumble back in the dark when I fail?
Will I feel home even if there are no butterflies around?
I can’t tell how home would look. Smell. How loud. How silent.
If home would dress up in fabric or acrylic. Play hopscotch.
I’ll only request a little corner, by the fireside. Relax, rejuvenate
Or rekindle the fire. I dream I dream I apparate I seek I dream.
Of finding home. Scream till I fill it or flood it, with all of my
music, poetry, tears, colors, pain, paper, people.
Pray when it all settles, there’s glitter in my eyes. And you,
might drop by. To stay at my home. Or be a part of it.




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