🌠unedited🌠
It's been 12 years since I've been home.
There's faces no longer there to see,
Gone with time, and buried 6 feet deep.
I ask if it was worth it, leaving young as I did.
Was it worth what I missed out on?
Were all the sights worth seeing?
Did it really matter seeing leaning towers, or crossing great big seas, was it really worth seeing long horns ridden down streets?
Was it worth the price to go and leave?
How many things did I miss that were worth more to me?
I'll never see that house again up in the mountains slope, kissed by mist, yearly harvest and bounty waiting for me.
I'm going home for the first time in 12 years, and I'm terrified of what is before me.
Will the homesickness and sorrow be stronger than me? Will coming home ruin all my old memories?
I'm coming home, just me.
I'm coming.
Home.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Journal for Wandering Feet
PoetryPoetry dedicated to where I come from. how I feel being away from home where I've been What I've lived. 🌺please leave me a vote if you like my poems🤙 Please don't post on my content trying to sell me something, send a private email, or asking me...
