When I close my eyes I can feel it.
Spotlights of sunshine highlighting
the air as minuscule specks of dust
waltz in the warmth.
The smell of fresh coffee in a warm kitchen
where love is baked into every
delicious morsel of food.
The book cases in the parlor that are filled
with books well worn from generations
of love and emotion.
The laughter of children ringing like
church bells as they run through the garden,
their happiness and innocence shining like a beacon.
When I close my eyes I can feel it.
The home I always wanted but
was never fortunate to have.
YOU ARE READING
aching lungs
PoetryPoetry has always been a beacon of light leading me through the dark abyss I sometimes find myself in. When the waves crash over my head, when I am being pulled to the bottomless expanses of my mind, these words wrapped around me and pulled me to th...
