H.O.M.E

Hearing “home is where the heart is” how my heart seems hardly here,

Have I harped about this house enough to have a heart that hears,

Holding hollowness I hesitate and hastily appraise,

Yet my hope for homely happiness becomes a helpless haze,

Over all these ordered ornaments I’ve oozingly obtained,

Is my orchestrated opulent oasis preordained,

Of this opportune occasion to obliterate my slum,

It’s the obvious obliging that I opt to overcome,

Maybe magic makes the mansion making money meaningless,

Through the madness and the mayhem and the Monday morning mess,

Not this manufactured merchandise I’ve mantled, but instead,

May I mull upon the memories and moments in my head,

Every elegant emotion I enrichingly embrace,

Helps exacerbate my ego and efficiently erase,

Now emerging from this eyesore and exhausting emptiness,

Comes enthusiastic ecstasy I eagerly express.

~ Josh McMahon