Home is a slow morning on a Sunday
A place that stays cool well into midday
A breakfast smell that lingers and wafts
A cozy book and a cool bed
Home is a moment that is one's own
A well placed vase
Painted walls
And a studio for projects in variant stages
Home is a face that I love to look at
Eyes that smile into mine
And a voice that I could never grow tired of
A well lit ambience and lofty space
Home is laughter and light
Hearts and tangles
Freshly folded towels
And a porcelain sink
Home is decadence and chocolate
Ice cream in the freezer
And peaches on the counter
A splash of lime, with an avocado
Home is an elegance
Unmatched
The frost on a glass
And a candle casting shadows
Home is a favorite movie
A new book
Evening news
And cricket songs
Home is a sunset
That fills and streaks across the sky
Infusing everything with golden glow
Followed by a starlit night
About the Creator
Melissa Eaves
I am an freelance writer. I love the written word and the poetry of my soul is expressed by mastery of it.
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More stories from Melissa Eaves and writers in Poets and other communities.
Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs4 days ago in Fiction
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