How I see my home, my personal space.
Poisonous skies, choking the atmosphere,
House-cluttered streets, taking over the land.
People corralled, like cows sent to slaughter,
Looking for an escape, a place to call home.
Home is not a house, a place to reside,
Nor is it the objects we accumulate.
Home is a secret refuge, somewhere to escape,
A place in our souls, where we strip away the day.
A safety net against a stressed-filled world,
Where the air is light, filled with bird song,
Where cool breezes soothe a weary soul,
The sun warms a once-chilled heart.
Love grows and blooms, a flower filled meadow,
Nurtured and cared for by the ones we love,
Making our souls strong, like the mighty redwood.
At home, we find peace of mind and soul,
As sitting by a melodic brook in spring.
Our hearts find joy, as a small child would,
Playing in the mud.