A place called Home

A Place called Home

A Place called home, a place of my own.
A Place where I can rest.
“ I dream of this place each and every day.”
A Place I can call home. “ A Place of my own.”
My gentile touch would be all over this place.
I’ll be looking into my mirror, seeing my face.
The “ True me, and not “ Someone else.”
I don’t like to see myself. “ Nowhere to go, living out on the streets, not owning any shoes. “ The Blanket I carry around is old and torn. Winter is coming and it will be “ Cold.”
Year in and year out, this is what my life is all about.
I’ll be asking my self, “ Why do I have to live this way.”
All I ever did wanted was a “ Place to stay.”
A Place of my own. I fought the war, and I did see people die.
Now I am here. “ Thirty some years did pass, but neverless,
“ I am forgotten.” Left behind. There is no justice in this.”
Unforgiving Land.”
“The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer.”
“And this is how my life will end.”

Author: Patricia Johnson

A place called Home

Patricia Johnson

Lexington, United States

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Artist's Description

This is a Poem from my Book: Poetry Across The Rainbow

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