My home is not where my heart is
I have no home at all
I have a box made out of bricks
I have some ceilings and some walls
I have curtains, I have windows
I have carpets on some floors
I have tables, I have chairs
I have handles on some doors

But I don't have any comfort
there is a lack of ease
A ''home'' is one that's caring
with warmth against a breeze

I am alone in my box of bricks
with the distant sound of pain
with the ghostly sound of memories
and the drumming beat of rain

I am grateful for these things
but it's a house, and nothing more
For if there is no love to fill it
then it's not a home at all

I stood in the dark
I heard the wind roar
I noticed it scraping my cheek
I felt the rain on my skin
I shivered in the cold
I strained to see the stars
I strained to see light
I wondered for the purpose of night
I longed for the day again

I squinted my eyes against the turbulence of the air
I felt alone in the shiver
But after long in the darkness
I began to feel peace
solitude
atonement

I saw the first glimpse of day
the sun on the horizon
the first bird that breaks the tranquillity
the first rush of mornings
the fear of being late
the cry of the first newborn, awake at last
the roar of a car

And I realised
the silence of night, isn't so bad after all

'You can't be in love, you're only Sixteen'*
Well then please, define 'love'
tell me, what does it mean?

I see the smile on your face as he walks through the door
but the pain in your eyes makes me wonder what for
And the silence and solitude pierces the air
The broken home whispers with tears of despair

You're trapped in a cycle of macabre lust
The unavoidable truth is the lack of real trust
So it pains me to watch you
And your words of fake ''love''
More Black like the Raven than White like the Dove

And you sit there
you ask me
how can I feel love?
how can my heart beat when it is so young?

My response then, is simple
I feel love like you do
Only your love is false
and my love is true

Don't bite the hand that feeds you*
the Sun hisses at the man
spitting the strongest rays of hatred
as he conceivably can

But on Earth, man does not listen
and he wastes the world away
laughing with his light bulbs
whilst the brightest fades to Grey

I write you a poem
I know it's not much
it isn't a flower
you can reach out and touch

Not the grandest of gestures
it's a singular rhyme
there's no red wicker basket
of Rosemary and Thyme

My words are not objects
not plated in Gold
but my ballad is heartfelt
where metal is cold

So, don't you agree
that a poem is better?
For my heart is not in materialism
but a sincere love letter.

A scientist scopes the cosmos
dreaming of the voyage to Mars
But he who waits for the sun to rise
will never know the beauty of the stars

I want to wake up every day in your apricot paradise
sunrise slowly over your eyes
A cosmic lullaby descends over my darkness
Steals away all my melancholy sadness
And upon morning, all I see is you.

I don't need a dream to chase
When you are walking with me
Your love sprinkles sugar into my eyes
And I am blind with strange emotion for thee
My chimera
My only love.
I don't need a dream to chase
When you are walking with me

Dearest wildflower grinning
With powdered crooked teeth
And hair incandescent and strange
I write you this as though it were my last.
Follow me into the Holocene
And the night ghosts will not wither your grinning soul
Your blue eyes dance away
Your iris discoloured and grey
Never has indigo seemed so violent
And Auburn hair seem so opaque
And strong tongues seemed so silent.
During Berlin nights
And blanched London days
I'm forever burning in your flames.