What is home? Where is such a place?
Maybe it might be a whole room painted with glaze
Or a place where I don't count the sad days
What is home? Have I been there before?
Maybe it's those slippery hands of the person I wish to call mi amore
Ah, could be where I play those silly games with my friends - indoor
What is home? What does the sun call its home?
Is it the place it shines on, all day long where we see it roam?
Or is it the place it sets and rests, forming its own lovely dome?
What is home? Where do the waves call their home?
The land it seeks, even when it slips down like a broken gnome?
Or the sea which plasters its leg and helps set it to stone?
What is home? Should there be an answer wrong?
As long as that hoped embrace is warm and strong
As long as to your backbone of hope you write a song
Home will stay home, for ages long.
~
#A prompt "Where do the waves call it their home? The land where it keeps trying to hold on to; Or the sea which holds it after its fall?" And my answer to it is this. This one's something I had to get off my mind. And thanks to the prompt, I could. Talks about given home and made home, in my experience.#