Open Poetry #44 |
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tfaye Junior Member
since 2008-12-18
Posts 33 |
Home A home is many things to many people. to some it’s where you hang your hat, to others it’s just a street address, but to a very rare few it’s wherever love lives at. A grand estate with guarded gates of sturdy iron, A tenement apartment, with holes in every screen A dusty, worn out, second mortgaged farm, A cottage , a trailer, or any thing between. If your heart and soul aren’t fully engaged Cobwebs, clutter, sleek lines or metropolitan chic, Cottage charm, modern art, peeling linoleum If there is no love, it can be cold and bleak Stained glass windows, hardwood floors No structure, no yard, no front porch swing A chandelier, a picket fence, a fireplace Doesn’t compare to the joy you bring My shelter is within the circle of your arms Your willing shoulder, my soft place to land The most comforting spot is wherever you are Your slow sweet smile, the touch of your hand My home is not a place, not a spot on a map There’s a slow steady warmth I feel when you’re near I am safe , I am open, I am trusting and giving Hopes blossom and worries fall away and disappear My home is not made of brick, stone or timber It’s not on a lane, an avenue or tree lined street There’s no roof, no walls, no closets, no doors It’s the heat of your gaze and your steady heartbeat. Wink |
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Rex Allen McCoy Member Elite
since 2000-01-30
Posts 2863Sippin a Timmy's in London |
Wonderfully written ... I think you sum it up in the fourth line ... -------------- it’s wherever love lives at. -------------- Rex |
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latearrival Member Ascendant
since 2003-03-21
Posts 5499Florida |
tfaye, Excellent sumation. latearrival |
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