Home is a faraway place 23-05-25
Staring out of a flapping tent door,
sunset is hidden behind the hills.
Cuddled up in a flimsy sleeping bag,
I dream of a warm bed.
Morning breaks- craving hot tea,
watching my breath mist up
in the mute cold of dawn,
longing for the whistle of a kettle.
Home is more than mattresses and pillows
but a haven,
where regardless of how wrecked we are,
the door will always be open.
Home is where we feel safe.
Some spend lifetimes searching
Some walk away without a glance.
Others sleep under a makeshift roof
falling asleep to the sound of dripping water.
Many wish they had one,
Somewhere to be themselves ...
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