Home

Her horrors remind me of home,

Her voice a pin that persistently pricks,

"We'll… home…" she tears a broken accent,

That's about to flee from her tongue.

She can't discriminate sun and moon

Nor between good and bad, 

Like a child cozy in pillow walls

Serene and sincere,

Picking all but despair.

In the houses of disease and dust

That they would call 'refuge' 

Her eyes are sparkling golden orb

Her stubborn heart wishes her garden,

Walls surfaced with memories, 

And food that tasted home.

She has no God,

Her prayers no words,

But hope that is like wind,

Gushes through her solemn desire,

Even as adamant as death.

The place so dismal that I fear returning 

But for her she wishes her home.