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Hunter Cilman Mar 15
Home is where the heart is
Oh that’s a funny thing you been told
Just because a homeless man
Found a home for his heart
Doesn’t mean he as a home

Oh that’s a funny thing to say
Home is where the heart is
When young people fall in love
Have they found a home
Oh how easily that home can be taken away

Oh home is where the heart is
To bad the heart is so fragile
Just how easily it can break
It’s always quicker than the repair

Why does home have to be where the heart is
When a heart is normally full of lies
Lies that the heart finds as truth
Lies that make the heart find false homes

So why is home is where the heart is
When it should be
Home is where your broken heart has taken you
lowkeymorns Nov 2018
I sit watching with a lifeless gaze I see only the thoughts that grip my mind all an effect of words said.
Not the words spoken out loud but the words stringed into answered questions. Questions I have yet to ask and will never ask.

I see visions of what if's and what will, I see images depicting years of the most likely outcome influence by years of observation. i see them fall in place like falling leafs from a tree. A tree whos roots grew from insecurities of being nothing more then a seed.

I see not love stories nor happy ever afters but that timeless story life has forever told, the story of Truth.
I see a play of the willful becoming those who lack the will.

I see the stage set with actors holding back their desires fighting their inhibitions till the clock ticks hitting that split-second.
Release the lights!
Let the water run and split  the bar on the gate that is life.

I see the mind of those so many who jump ship in this flood, simply to drown in their waters. their last breath a regret! As They sink in their sea of pain calling out no name only asking who do I blame?
The waves washing over with no sway as if to whisper but one name.

I watch the outcome of this play day after day reeping my mind like the sun seeks the shade. it's fear, fear of loss and Fear To Love, it's of failing and failing to try, all the hellos and goodbyes. it's the moments and memories of with and without, its my thoughts and my doubts, it's no life with. And its a life going out.
I wrote this off of how I was feeling, the meaning behind it is how ever the reader interpreted it
Poems should be simple like a brush
So that you get the Idea of its purpose
But as complex as a riddle
Because the beauty,
Is when you understand
How much work was put into it
aarti dhillon Apr 2015
To the point where it starts or is it to the point where it ends
A sinful but childish memory  that knows its way to the back terminus
The coda of a moment with the certainity of a melliflous flow
What makes it deep and so ween is the never ending uncertainity
Uncertainity , whether its to the point where it starts , where it ends or is it just simply to the....!!!
Brittany C Apr 2014
Is it weird, that I sit here, thinking about the now?
Thoughts are cleared, and I might fear, that I'm lost somehow?
In this moment, I feel alive, and it's rather freeing.
But I'm broken, and I'm deprived, how am I so late to seeing?
Fear sets in, mind starts to race, and my heart beats faster.
I begin, "I don't like this place," but I stop with no answer.
I write, to escape.

— The End —