Poetry Compilation

Home

I miss the dense smells
of the citrusy pines trees
and musty decaying leaves
that linger in the air and cling
to your clothing.
I miss only seeing for a hundred yards
before my view is obstructed
by a hill or a tree.
I miss breathing in and filling my lungs
with crisp, cool air
that feels as clean and pure
as a freshly fallen snow.

I traded ten thousand lakes
for a rolling sea of corn.
Thick natural forests
for mechanical windmills.
The songs of a thousand frogs
for the strum of a million cicadas
when I left my home.
And no matter how long I'm away.
It will always be my home
Because home is where
I can breathe.