A Place Called Home

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Being homesick is hard. Even with all the new things to see. Change is never easy.

Submitted: April 26, 2017

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Submitted: April 26, 2017



The sun is bright,

My skin is cold.

My memories remind me

of a place thats old.

A place of rain that I called home.

I look around at how far I've roamed.

I'm reminded of all the years.

A place of joy, a place of tears.

Home wasn't always an escape or gift,

But it was a place I was familiar with.

Where I had family and a lot of friends.

A place where the music never ends.

A place of love and hate and hope,

A place where with anything I could cope.

The sand is warm,

The sky is blue.

On the prettiest days I'm missing you.

Your pinkish sunsets and faces I know.

Now I reside where I'll never see snow.

Your memory hurts.

I hope this will pass.

The nights falling early

and the days never last.

With every new hour

There's something to learn.

So I keep going on

and one day I'll return.

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