Home

Where I go I do not belong. Where I sleep this feels wrong. I paint the walls and hang some pictures. Plant some flowers and buy new fixtures. I make this little house my own but it still doesn’t feel right to call home. I look at the clock it’s after eleven then it hits me my home is in heaven. I have to be patient I have to wait for it’s not my turn yet at the pearly gate.

Very nice work.

I think there is a part of all of us that just wants to go home. C. S. Lewis makes the point that when we feel like we don't belong here, that is proof that we do belong somewhere else. You make the same point beautifully, perhaps a bit sadly.

Thank you. I had mixed emotions while writing the poem. It’s somewhat bittersweet.