Eighty Six . . .

Home

by Stormcat

this country this place this road this shelter

six billion plus say it when asked

 some change it as often as changing clothes

some fear it, some revel in it, some are indifferent

except for the homeless, there are always at least two

(the current one and the nostalgic one)

a component of identity, some cling to it like a lifeline

others wish to distance themselves from the pain of it.

it is furnished with fixtures, characters, situations, pets

illusions, traditions, and some composition of dirt that goes

 unnoticed by residents but disgusts all non-residents.

when one departs a defensive armor substitutes for it

but a pervasive longing controls until the return. some

are full of light and life with warm laughter, music,

children, friends, dancing, chores, books, conflicts, noise,

joyful noise . . . . Love!

some are dark and cold, empty, missing some key

ingredient,  large and hollow, unfinished lacking the

trappings of normalcy, struggling to provide even the

very basics of shelter. turn on all the lights, play the

music, acquire luxuries, throw parties with giant bonfires

prepare gourmet meals, take jacuzzis, sleep on pillow

soft beds with tantalizing linens, it remains empty. it is

only as complete as the completeness of its residents.

search a thousand locales to find it and it eludes you

visit a million ideas to understand it and it eludes you

fuck a hundred lovers to feel it and it eludes you

fight a revolution to possess it and it eludes you

work a million hours to buy it and it eludes you

build five hundred houses to approximate it and

still . . .  it eludes you. for each it is only found in one

true other. so come, my love, and make Your home in me.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved