A House Is Not a Home
A
house
is
not
a
home
it
is
but
my
rest
ground
when
the
suns
heat
rains
on
my
skin
and
the
light
of
night
envelopes
my
eye
i
return
to
meet
the
gloom
of
my
house
but
my
home
was
warm
the
smiling
faces
the
noise
of
wrinkled
ages
and
the
tales
they
told
they
bring
life
to
my
home
in
their
aging
faces
but
my
house
and
it's
coldness
just
enough
to
keep
me
warm
till
dawn
i
am
not
proud
of
this
address
the
silence
that
trails
the
street
and
the
smiles
that
were
never
returned
i
barely
know
my
neighbour
but
who
cares?
Not
he
not
I
this
house
can't
be
my
home.
I
must
make
haste
and
pass
the
night
and
maybe
other
nights
to
come
until
i
find
my
home
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