A House of Stones,
Built to last till time grows old,
To protect these bones,
Guarded by a sentinel who is alone.

These words trickle,
Through the stones,
Growing moss in the cracks,
Of this old home.

I wish I could go home,
An ache that is deeper now.
Strange as it sounds,
My places of stones is my only home.

All around me are strange sounds,
Smiling faces that surround,
All met with stoney calm
And the sentinel.

The hearth cradles my heart,
Though winter has been long,
It still warms the house.
However the entry is still incomplete.

The lock is complex and I’ve lost the key.
Forgive me,
All seeking entry,
The stones are not for you to see.

It’s a place of sanctuary and grief,
Set upon understanding,
At the roads of vigilance and fatigue.