Home is where the heart is
So I have nowhere left to stand
No doorway knows my name
No room remembers my breath
I walk the world unclaimed
A wanderer carved from frost
Carrying only the echo
Of a pulse I misplaced
Home is where the heart is
But mine slipped from my ribs
Like a bird fleeing winter
Leaving me
Roofless
Rootless
A body without a compass
Still I search the dark
Not for shelter
Not for warmth
But for the faintest thrum
That might lead me back
To something like living
Home is where the heart is
And I am learning slowly
To build one
From the ashes
Of what I lost
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Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: April 5th, 2026 04:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible, Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏
Offline)
Comments1
Sad yet hopeful this poem speaks of a sense of wandering in search of a home lost and needing reconstruction from ashes no less these need to be mixes with clay and sand to make brick. Well written Anthony
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