by B.J. Delas Armas on 11/03/2003 10:35:00 AM 0 comments Print this post

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I would like to go there.
But do I even have it ?
The place where I
Heal the wear and tear
The place where I
Have time to spare
And share
Myself
From my firsts
To my worst
It has been there
They call it inanimate
But its one that cares
Never scares
Till its gone and went
Left without consent
And the pair is dissent
Get another house sure
But home is not
Not just a door and stairs
Its the flare to your despair
With all that recycled air
And all the mussy hair
Bugs, termites freekin' beware
But despite its stinky share
It has a rare snare to fry the kitch
And glare that keeps you floored.

(Note: "om" is a sacred symbol in Buddhist and hindu cultures
"an" is just used here as an afterthought)

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