A Place Called Home
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Poem by: annahorbin
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.
© Copyright 2018 annahorbin. All rights reserved.
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