When the door locks shut
Abrupt, everywhere else cut
Off, framed by purple clouds or
Sleepy rays, and birdsong soars
Sweetly, mingling with native scents
Washing boosters, money well spent
On details only I can know
That mark the state I call a home
The relief that drapes across my door
Stalagmites of Cicero, Homer, Bonjour
Tristesse, my heart well nestled
A sui generis anchorhold wrestled
With much bloody gold, every penny earned
Despite one or two stanchions burned
Home exists, and it's mine, that much
I can see, and feel, and hear, and touch
Locked in, perhaps, but outside there
Keeps my home, with a grateful prayer.
@nepion_boreas17
