Home is not a house, it’s a place.
Sometime home is overtaken by unattended grass and snakes.
Walls have fallen and windows are broken.
You have to hold on to what’s left like a Golden token.
There is a beauty in what has fallen, allowing memories to resurface.
The sight of destruction constructs remembrance of the good Ol days when everything was in place.
The present is filled with chirping birds and locust that wanna be heard.
Home now has a disguise with a wildnerness beard.
But still…
The recollection of home will make you cry of jublilation.
Bring youthful possibilities with sprinkle of rejuvenation.
Sometimes home is not where you live.
Sometimes home is merely a place where you recall where you once lived.
Where you were molded.
Where your world once unfolded.
The natural demolition sets a reminder.
That home is not the house but in your heart.
Take one last glance as it’s one storm from falling apart.
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