Home is not where my heart is.
My heart is where my home is.
My home lives within me.
A home in which I cannot flee.
Moving from place to place, I am always gone without a trace.
Where I am alive and thrive is where my heart resides.
In the dungeon of loneliness my heart survives, on what the dreams of fantasy provides.
The captor’s instruments of torment are the many memories that foment.
Love is the abode that my heart carries on my road.
Though I travel near and far and sleep under a lonely star,
Love holds my heart in its warm and cozy hearth.
About the Creator
Dorothy Adams
Imagination enchanter extraordinaire! Downfall=run ons
Creating worlds that entice the mind and stir the heart.
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Five—One Grounding
Five—Locked in a perpetual battle against my failing senses and reason, I fight to survive, to get through; I am afraid of... nothingandeverythingallatonce—...—my mouth is dry, and my muscles seize up... what can I see? I can see the birdcage and birds; I can see the watercolour my beautiful wife painted many years ago and unlocked her journey into art; I can see the empty mug of tea as it sits perilously on the arm of the sofa; how many is that now? Three down, two to go; I can also see a jackdaw on the roof of our neighbour's house across the road and a bookcase of potential—Five things you can see.
By Paul Stewart6 days ago in Poets
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