Not My Home

Gazing out the window

Of a house built on blessings;

Straining my eyes to the horizon,

I will them to defy nature.

Alas, I can only see the winter trees

And the darkening streaks of color

Which indicate the brilliant sun

Has recently passed by.

Staring out the window

At the fading colors of light,

My mind’s eye flies far away

To where the sun shines now.

Thousands of miles away

From my window of blessings,

The rising sun’s rays reveal

Another house stands empty.

Flying through the window

Of this abandoned house,

Everything looks the same

Yet also somehow different.

Just inside the window

Sits the couch of memories;

So many games, laughs, tears

Happened on that worn leather.

Beyond the vacant couch

My desk stands thick with dust;

The place I learned and grew

And made mistakes as well.

The yellow kitchen holds only echoes

Of the many dishes washed,

Songs sung, meals burnt,

And people bonding over food.

On the outside of this door

I hesitate: Do I dare to enter?

This bedroom housed teen me,

And my three sisters besides.

Entering, I’m surprised to find

That it’s still a faded purple

With unmatching, girly sheets

And homemade curtains hanging.

My favorite books still lean together,

Gathering dust, waiting to be read,

But this time there’s far more dust

Than I’d ever allowed before.

Eighteen stuffed friends huddle

As if lonely and forgotten;

Do they know that so many times

I wished to gather them in a large hug?

Gazing out the window

Of a house built on blessings,

The vision of my mind’s eye fades

As tears streak down and blur it.

Sitting in the dark, I wonder

If I’ll ever visit my other house

In a way more tangible than this;

I wonder many things all night.

Will I ever again turn the pages

Of some of my beloved books?

Will I be allowed to relive memories

In that sunny, lovely kitchen?

Will I once again see the view,

The majestic mountain outside

That is covered in green trees,

Flowers, waterfalls, and mysteries?

Squeezing my eyes shut:

Will I see these things again

Outside of scant pictures

And blurring memories?

Forcing myself to see the present,

I behold the first rays of sunlight

Yawning over the dead treeline

To reveal my tear-stained cheeks.

Staring out the window

At the brilliant colors of light,

My heart gives a great sigh

That indicates release.

The sun is setting far away

On my beloved house of memories;

Here the sun is rising

Above this house of blessings.

Watching from the window,

The blinding light reminds me

Of the real home I’m longing for;

Which is both far and near.

These tears are healthy, okay,

Especially when I realize

That this paradoxical world

Is not truly my home.

---

---