I'm holding the keys to my childhood home -
and I can't help but think of all the days I spent alone.
No curtains or blinds, just plain open sky.
There was no company save for the birds and I.
There was college, the guild,
a family I helped rebuild.
But inevitably, the day would end and I had to go home,
returning to my collection of tomes.
Sometimes I would wander outside,
to the village, to which my soul was tied.
I sat among the bluebells, listening to them ring,
And with my godly father Zephyr, I began to sing.
During bad times, I'd run to the hill,
throwing stones with no real skill.
I screamed my broken pieces into the air,
because I knew no one else would care.
Sighing, I clutch the keys as they cut into my skin.
This was my home, these were my kin.
Now, it is my 'sanctuary' no longer.
At least now, I am stronger.