Beyond the Words

Not Yet

Home used to greet me

with open arms

and a warm hug.

Home used to smile

when I slept comfortably

beneath its blankets.

Home had my most treasured memories

locked safely in its heart; the only

keys able to open it was its fingers.

But now, home is permanently stained

with the blood of a loved one—I collapse

from afar, too shocked to come near.

Home looks at me with

guilt and sorrow in its eyes,

sorry that it failed to protect him.

And though I so desperately want to

forgive and move forward,

I just can’t seem to go back home.

No.

Not yet.