Poem: Home

Writing

Where is ‘home’?

Is home my little brick house by the sea, corroded by gale gusts and seagulls?

Is home the place in my mind, that place noone else can see of?

Does my heart lead me home, where my parents still reside?

Or if migrated, is it instead the place where I first began life?

Tell me –  ‘home’?

Is it just a little place that we dream of?

 

What if I said that I had no ‘home’?

Would this be a joy or tragedy?

A nomad has no set land of their own.

So does this mean that they must live life tragically?

 

Why do we feel the need to call a certain location a ‘home’?

For a sense of security, comfort and shelter?

If we were to all lose our homes tomorrow,

Would it be for the worse or for the better?

 

 

 

 

Poem: Collapsing

Writing

Collapsing,

My last breath feels inevitable. 

Food, a phrase once so fruitious,

Now feels so forgettable.

Picking the apple from Eden,

An action so regrettable. 

 

I claw and I clamber,

You believe that I committed perjury 

One measly morsel of food is all that I ask for.

Yet you deny me this luxury,

I am no cardinal sinner.

Let God be my judge,

 Lord above, please listen to my prayers.