Home is where my sister is.
Louise is her name, so warm and kind
From childhood she was the queen of her peers
Near her warm heart is where home's defined
Home is where my sister is.
Home is where my mother lives.
Last I saw, she writhed in pain
I must stay close for the life she gives
and make her home where I must remain
Home is where my mother lives.
Home is where my children are.
Raised to be ever close to my heart
But now I set out to journey afar
To relieve the pain of being apart
Home is where my children are.
Home is where I'm loved and stay.
Right next to my wife I want to lay
and listen on every word she has to say
If only they'll let me, it's all I pray
Home is where I'm loved and stay.
Where is my home?
I wish I knew.
I'll proceed to roam
'til I have a clue.
About the Creator
Josiah.thepoet
I've been writing for about a decade but only sharing for a couple years.
I write for me, I write to share thoughts. My thoughts and those of the people who I come across.
There are many overlooked stories and I'm here to give them their look
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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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