-
Home Is Where
These bricks, this stone… this isn’t my home.
The fire is here, and faces I know,
I live here, can’t sleep here, it’s here that I’ve grown,
But absent is heart: this isn’t my home.
So locate the heart, and then I will rest.
Bones, arching fingers, which cradle, protect,
Are hiding and housing, and keep and collect.
My heart, so my home, can be found in your chest.I love this poem!
Posted on February 21, 2012 via The First Blank Page with 9 notes
Source: bitchbreed
-
pixiecd liked this
-
jebiwonkenobi liked this
-
joshuarobertlong liked this
-
praise-carver-edlund liked this
-
celinamswriting reblogged this from bitchbreed
-
celinamswriting liked this
-
theonetobreakthespell liked this
-
padapooper reblogged this from bitchbreed
-
padapooper liked this
-
bitchbreed posted this
-
My name is Celina B. Mills and I am a writer. I write horror novels and poetry, and occasionally song lyrics. I play the acoustic guitar and the keyboard, and I'm also a lesbian.
I happen to be one of the biggest music lovers ever! And recently created a music-review blog, totally random shuffle with my mom.
My five great loves are writing, reading, music, my family, and animals. I'm also a big fan of horror movies!
I created this blog to post my poetry. Everything I post, unless otherwise stated, is written by me.
