Frostbite
"Home" is the name they gave to where we travel most. And often where I should find warmth and welcome, Is often that which nips at my feet. Warm faces mean little when your feet are cold. And such warm faces refuse to distribute, So I retreat to a pillow, or a page, Or words such as these, striving for invisible breath. I can speak love, but rarely breathe it here, And I once held trust, but dropped it, stumbling over cold confusion. These walls know our love, but seep with our sour words. "Home" is the name I gave to where my heart travels most. Written March 5th, 2002 © on Mar 04 2002 04:14 PM PST 10 • 0
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""Home" is the name they gave to where we travel most...."