Home is Where the Heart is.

Empty days.

Home is Where the Heart is.

As I ascend the stairs,

my belly full of beer,

bed is not my favourite place

for the empty space reminds

me of just how hollow my life

has become. After years of

sharing this mattress with another,

touching skin and thighs and toes

on cold crisp nights, the vacant

side of the bed, upon which I

dare not rest, mocks at my

misery.

This house is not my favourite place

for the echoing walls

that reflect only my breaths,

since my offspring left for pastures new,

are steeped in the memory

of children, family, responsibility

and better days

when it was a home; a place

of life, and yes stressful, but it

gave meaning to my being;

I had a reason to conduct

the daily rituals.

Now my bed and my home

are empty and

I have lost my purpose.

 

11/10/14

Author's Note

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

Your emotion gives pulse to your every word...and I feel the weight of them, as I scroll further and further down the page.

May the efforts of your writing bring you the immeasurable joy it has given, to me!

My best,
Kelly

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you Kelly for such kind words.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this poem reminds me of John Cheever's "the swimmer"

we don't realize what we are losing until we have lost it all, and then what meaning has our life?

alone is a restless sleep.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Alone is indeed a restless sleep Jacob; many thanks!