Many Things

Home is many things

And they change as I do.

When one thing is broken

I must find something new.

My first home was the arms

Of those who love me.

My second, a crib,

A place of sanctuary.

There’ve been many more.

Only rarely were they places.

I moved every year

So homes became faces.

Once I was older

And wiser (I believe)

I found my peace and bliss

In things like fall leaves

And in stories that existed only for me.

In writing things I could never be.

In singing, in dancing,

In climbing a tree.

Eventually in friends

And schoolwork well done.

In learning new things

From all I could see.

But one time I chose a home

That destroyed everything else.

The arms of a man who claimed love

And stole my sense of self.

In no time at all

Hell, less than a year,

He took all my homes

And turned them to fear.

It broke me and shattered me

Ground me to dust.

And I thought, for a while

A home was broken trust.

It took several years

Of thaws and of freezes.

To find who I’d once been

Without all the pieces.

I dragged myself back together

One broken inch at a time.

Retreated to lick my wounds

In a home that was all mine.

Since then, I’ve gathered

The things that bring light.

I wrap them around me

Once more ready to fight.

Home is many things

And they changed as I did.

And the things that were broken

Were renewed from the dead.

My new home, my peace,

Is perfect and free.

I never feel safer than in the arms

Of my wife, who loves me.