Home Less

Not home,
it’s not home.
My home doesn’t exist but
even what
little part does
is not the
part I am in.
This is not it,
the arena is not
mine nor is this
armour.
Currently
as it is,
I’m less a home
and owed one
I think but
not sure from whom.
This scene
is seen
from a
dream that
I refuse to stop
having.
I’ve never felt
more at
home
then looking
through that
screen.

My own doors are
keyless
and keys are
less that I
would beg for.
They are
enshrined in
ivy and
stone
and surrounded by
riddle and I
don’t know
the answer.
Less
a home and
more a house.
Dismissed at
first viewing,
not enough charm,
too much work.
Damp.
I suppose I
should rebuild
and
make
my own.

I wish
I belonged
where I’ve been
left.

Published by R.T

Brit born and Canada bound, I run On Tuesdays, my poetry blog where I write weekly(ish) poems.

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