could i possibly come home to thee?
that which eludes me?

lost as i was
yet knowing where to go
but lost i stayed
and forgotten.

this home, oh ye forgot
in the forefront of ye mind
but in the crevices
thy home lurked
ever reminding me how lost
i was staying
and losing my way.

is it ye or is it me
or is it I that will see
how lost we’ve come to be.

months go by
and years of little words
that fill this home
but in the pockets of thy home
hidden in secret passageways
words and time have passed
and locked away each their own.

perhaps we will stay
in this home we’ve longed for
yet parted ways with
as we filled ourselves
with fear and worry
of those that would find
our home and we would
surely die from the knowing.

is it true, thy saying
of the truth and freedom
or is it just farce
that will shred
what little is left of us?

shall we worry
if thy mother should know
or the ones who watch
and surely know
we are asking for death
for that is the price we pay
when silence is spoken.

and what of the people
who may find that all of we
and all that has passed
and made us a we,
what would they say
and think and do
if they knew the real us
that we once dared to show
and open thy doors of our home
for all to see, but alas, only here
for our home to them
is but a mask they see.

how crazy we must be
for being open for all to see
and yet others do
while others don’t
and which is right
and which is wrong
we don’t know for us.

and so we come
tip toeing our way home
peeking out through thy corners
lifting the curtains and opening
the windows and taking deep breaths
to write here once more again.

a bunch of us writing which is why it is so different and not so great throughout but it is what it is

p.s. our home we talk about is really our online journal