Home

by Michael Turle 2 years ago in sad poetry

From Purposeless Poetry in Varying Verse

Home

At present, I admit, I am lost

In the woods,

Searching for a home that will take me.

I have found a few nice ones, though they all

Seem full

That, or they don't care to face me.

It is lonely out here,

Here deep in the wood,

But there are things I see here,

Things I never could,

If I had a home.

I see birds and bats and eaglets and rain,

A menagerie of stars

The sky struggles to contain,

Things I would be unable to obtain

If I had a home.

I love this life

Of liberty and feign,

Of being the one to grow my own grain,

But there are times I tire of sleeping in the rain

And times I'd like to know a home.

At present, I admit, I am lost

In myself,

In a maze of emotion and appall.

I've found a few maps, though none of them

Lead me

To anywhere I'd want to go at all.

I want to be home and I want to be free,

I want to be loved but I want to be me.

I paint my own picture

And build my own temple,

But Home would nice,

Even if I am humbled.

A sky full of stars or a home full of love,

A chain from below or the rain from above,

Do I free or hold on to this beautiful dove

That has vested its trust unto me?

At present, I admit, I am searching

For a home,

But even if I find one,

I may still sleep alone

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Michael Turle

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