A Place I Call Home

The place i call home,
is silent and still,
empty and sad,
with rooms to fill,

The place i call home
is broken and worn,
with walls that are stained,
with a foundation that crumbles,
crumbles in the warm summer rain

The place i call home,
is small and worn,
icelated with no one around,
not by a city or town,

yet here i wait,
i wait for you,
who breaks the silence with a joke,
paints the walls with a coat,
who bring s life to this place once again,
fills the room with flowers and gifts,
i know your not a myth,

this place i call home,
where silence remains,
walls that are stained,
doors that are broke,
with room to fill,
this place were i wait,
and wait just for you.

by Kayla Bakken

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Comments (2)

But home is home no matter what...that's what people say. But a home is where heart is.. :)
sad but still sweet. nice poem!