an attempt at poetry

chapter 54: 'this house is a home' or a love letter to my friends

We're seventeen and eighteen,

So we live our lives to the brink,

See all there is to see,

And cherish what we've been,

We lay on the beach,

Drink in the sunlight,

Bask in the thought-

That it's all within reach,

That's the faux hope- that all on your own,

You can brush the dust off and climb up the slope,

But that's just another of our age's illusions,

So we won't even bother, and drown in delusions,

Then all on your own starts to seems a bit lonely,

The walls begin to whisper as they close in abruptly,

The silence feels crowded and the ceiling leans closely,

The darkness is thick, devoid of anything holy,

So we ache and we yearn,

Crying for something like home,

A pattern on a plate or a curtain,

That'll make us feel,

Like we're a little less alone,

Then the front door creaks open,

And a gush of wind runs in, in a sudden,

Like an intruder, we expect it to hold dearth,

Instead, like a blanket it shells us with warmth,

And the corner that was once owned by darkness,

Reveals a sunflower beaming within the walls' softness,

Strokes of detail dance on the wood of the ceiling,

And the light from the windows give a feeling of freedom,

From that moment on, we get up every morning,

And whenever we fall, if we slip without warning,

We land on the mellowness-

Of the hand-made carpet a friend gave us.

We can sit on the couch and rest assured,

That they'll remember us, because the lamp is still on,

There's a mug still warm, and a chair pulled out,

So we'll feel less alone, and let go of the need to shout,

There's a key on the hook, and a blanket on the couch,

So we know we belong, and can always seek their touch,

There's a plant kept alive, and some shoes by the door,

With their help we can thrive and know they'll come back,

Even when the rain won't cease to pour,

My house is swamped with all these small things,

My friends offer love, and it never comes with strings,

So I hope you feel your house too,

Is lit up by a familiar golden hue,

Because this year, with your help,

I've grown, and I've felt known,

So I need you to remember,

You've all made this house feel like a home.