Home is like your fist,
an acorn waiting to spring root.
Home is not your prison of convention,
nor a migrant’s shelter,
it’s neither pillow nor the pavement.
Home is a special state of mind
that one day you will find
in the silence of your soil.
It’s fading heartbeats
and an oak tree growing.
Linked to real toads Tuesday Platform.
March 21, 2017