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Poem

"Home isn’t where you are from, it is where 
   you find light when all grows dark."  ~  Pierce Brown
                

I once lived in a happy home, overflowing with love,
but when I was given cause to leave, it became a house.
I've moved on and so has he. I've found contentment.
In a sanctuary I reside, complacent without a spouse.

I'm not hiding away as a recluse would from the world,
nor do I flounder in an ocean of tears, fearing to drown.
I never complain of being alone, nor am I ever lonely.
My once-upon-a-time home is gone; Camelot fell down.

In my new home, I feel protected from Cupid's arrows.
No longer am I a target for the imp's misguided dart
The last one left a scar that thoughts keep from healing.
Since I've moved, I've stitched the open slits in my heart.

Walls keep intruders out, but I don't live in seclusion.
I have many friends, so don't ever think of me as 'glum.'
My house is a haven where only the invited come inside
I don't hide my heartstrings, but I choose who can strum.

My dwelling is not of brick and mortar, nor cast in stone.
I've not become cold natured, heart hardened as a beast,
but I will never offer myself again upon a banquet table
unless I'm the one who willingly opens my door for a feast.

A house can have a hundred rooms, no locks on its doors,
plush furniture, Persian rugs on the floor, and fine dishes,
but it will never be a happy home to those who live inside
unless it's nurtured with love, not with dreams and wishes.

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