surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Home to Home
Home is security, where fear should never be, even when lonely love should flow so effortlessly, leaving pain behind, no more tears, just dry eyes, realizing home within is a blessing, can you relate? Only those who have been home to home to homeless will discover the fulfillment of finding home of self and encouragement to push forward even when hopeless, is home a family that’s filled with no understandings only ego based relationships that cover truth to make you feel comfortable, time to shed the baggage that’s dead and find a place with new found space to be free and live a life of happiness, with no stress, the home you create is your fate or a run with destiny only if you decide to change, home to home are you safe? The answer is within everything outside of you may not be what it seems perception is everything, take your time, when you find home you will definitely know, some may say is home another planet because while on earth you may feel stranded, not knowing what to do or where to go, follow your heart it will lead you now you have somewhere to start.
By Tecarra Jones5 years ago in Poets
Home
Home to many is a place of memories. A single conception of moments in time we shared yet most forget, and some remember in bits and pieces. Still, the concept of what once was, holds ground to our feet leading us along a path in any direction we choose to take and leads us back to our roots without pause whenever need be. Whether the need contains a decision of happiness, sadness, betrayal or loss, we forever have a way back to our roots as a tree stands for hundreds of years. Home is a virus. Never ending but forever lingering throughout the generations attached to it. Like a virus, it waits, prepares, then follows with a defiant strain, a new path unlike the old; one you haven't seen the likes of. Home and family remains to deplete this shared home we all call Earth, the home that will answer the call once and for all. Our Eden will be forced to become a part of a fear that has been knocking at our borders of all four corners. As the three little pigs knocked at the door, huffing and puffing, so will we blow this house down.
By Vicki Zell5 years ago in Poets
