a stone that hits home

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sometimes where you are summarizes how you are:

a busy street in the alleys of defeat.

a flustered pleat torn in an unsuccessful feat.

from someone to no one to everyone.

Even white noise can give you a migraine

when your world stands still with pain.

Fight is a light that can blight a heart with plight

like a sunrise drabbed into a sunset with fright.

Bereft bonds feint hearts until they faint.

You can’t plant your feet where you can’t wait;

just as you can’t lean on paint or enliven a brick.

The trick is not to stick with what won’t stick.

Life's stories are muddy quarries where worries

cloud those under and shroud with their thunder

bereft memories like lightening hailing pain for rain.

They make you seek shelter and wait for things to get better

They let you stay but in the end you pay.

They toil and soil you until you play

parts that deafen you to words that slay

your heart before your ears or mind can hit replay.

Everything and everyone are nothing and no one

when you lose heart and part with who you were.

Sometimes the start is the end because a part

of what happened to you becomes all of you yet apart.

Sometimes where you are summarizes how you are:

A busy street in the alleys of defeat.

A flustered pleat torn in an unsuccessful feat.

From someone to no one to everyone.

After all, we are all victims of tole bells that toll:

To fall is a call: to stand tall or lose it all for a goal

Life is a game, so let’s play paying for our stay.

We all gotta pay, sometimes by staying away.

The pain is the same even when all you gain

is a chance to do it all over again like a stain

that won’t go; it drives you insane with its inane

dance tapping to condition your brain with bane.

You look the same, but you are never the same.

You wonder why right goes left right with what’s left.

or why chances and hopes are tropes; or you can accept that there’s nothing left

to be missed when home is where you were left.

Time to run, what a pun! Age is time’s theft

in a time where loved ones leave one bereft.

Alone is a stone that hits home, a home alone,

with windows made of plumes not stone

with paper panes filled with words not broken bone

that sing like birds do every sunrise, only to be gone

when the sun sets as I set in stone I am on my own.

#home #belonging #safety #mentalhealth #personalspace #confortzone #peace #happiness

#poetry #personification #impressions #poetsofinstagram #poemsofinstagram #poetryislife #poetrylovers #poetryinmotion #poetryisnotdead #poetrycommunity

Submitted: June 25, 2021

Poetry relationships home peace mentalhealth comfortzone