Home is where the heart is,
But my heart isn't here.
It is somewhere in the dark, locked away without a key.
My heart is not within me, but somewhere out of reach.
Home is where the heart.
My heart is still not here.
The wind has blown it many ways, now my heart is split.
It could be blown either way, yet instead it stays the same.
Which direction will it choose?
Can my heart be tamed?
How can I find it?
What can I see?
Without my heart, how am I supposed to be me?
Home is where the heart it...
My heart is still not here.
I feel like a flightless bird, tethered to a tree.
My heart has disappeared.
Disintegrated.
Left me here.
Can I live without it?
Maybe there will be no pain?
Home is where the heart is...
YOU ARE READING
simplicity
Poetrysimplicity.... that's what poetry is. but poetry has depth, emotion, a sense of understanding.
