Home

life

I am a hobo.

 

At least in the sense that I am homeless.

I have a house, I have possessions,

yet I still do not have a home.

 

Home is where you want to be

after long trips to foreign destinations.

I don't have one of those.

 

I have you.

My home, with locks that change

too quickly to get in.

 

 

Reviews

[kaycee]

Aw, Adam, this made me so sad. I know the feeling. What a wonderful poem. The final two lines were powerful and beautiful in such a haunting way.

[Jules]

Interesting poem! A very intense and emotion-full description of your disposition. (I don't know if it is fictitious or if it truly is yours) But I feel the pain and longing for such a home! well written!