Going Home At The Stroke Of XII

A hug that has long since gone,

since the day of your last breath.

A time well remembered

before you went onto your final rest.

At times of sadness,

my eyes hysterically cried.

Not grasping the world's message,

not even when you died.

My fists to the heavens,

consumed by anger-filled rage.

Life's unfortunate circumstances made me

feel like an animal in a cage.

Too young to know what to do,

needing your ear.

Saying I could handle it all,

I was tested that year.

Taking from your ideals you taught me over time

we brought it all together, through thick and through thin.

No ears to bend, no worldly advice to receive,

keeping it all together, filled with a pain lying within.

In time the pain diminished

and life did come around.

I often wonder how I'm doing,

and if you'd be happy for the life that I found.

Someday I do hope,

that I can share all that I've known.

Life is like a clock, ending the day at the stroke of 12

and when it's done we all go home.

Home is where the heart is, wherever there are those that you love.

Maybe someday I'll find my way home if I am so lucky.

Until then I've found a home with others I love,

while those that I miss are looking down from above.

May we all find home again...