Our Home Within
A
warm
safe place
out of the cold,
with all you might
need to have to hold.
Each frame, each shelf, reflects
who you are. A moving sculpture of your
memoirs. It's walls and floors absorb every
voice... each wail or cry, and every time we
rejoice. In the still and quiet the dark sighs
and the echo of a thousand footsteps go by.
And yet ... and yet, If the roof caved in and
the walls fell down, in my memories are
these same ghostly sounds. It is in the hand
my child holds and the stories my husband
has told. Our home is so dear to us but always
within, our temple of blood and bone and skin.
Copyright © Crystol Woods | Year Posted 2025
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