The quest for a home

Shifting eyelids in the murmurs of chaos, I found a dead flower brown in the dirt of yesterday. Seeking solace in his arms I slept over, home reeks of the harrowing echoes of my silence. And trust me, I try, to fill it or flood it, with music, poetry, tears, colors, pain, paper, people, but Home still longs for glitter in my eyes from a time that reflects my dearest faces with gentler hands. I see cracks growing past the feeble binds I have made in playgrounds, classrooms, bars and bedrooms, distance Is absolute in a world built out of difference and difference lures away parts of me I planted in you to protect. What do I do, with this time bomb of questions? Tell me how I can rest and bake an aroma to cleanse the muck money has left behind in me. Or simply just remind me of when a flutter of butterflies came sniffing? How can I tell if I can ever escape these parallel bars, so I could go wandering in a quest to seek what I seek? Where is it that I fumble back in the dark when I fail? Will I feel home even if there are no butterflies around? I can’t tell how home would look. Smell. How loud. How silent. If home would dress up in fabric or acrylic. Play hopscotch. I’ll only request a little corner, by the fireside. Relax, rejuvenate Or rekindle the fire. I dream I dream I apparate I seek I dream. Of finding home. Scream till I fill it or flood it, with all of my music, poetry, tears, colors, pain, paper, people. Pray when it all settles, there’s glitter in my eyes. And you, might drop by. To stay at my home. Or be a part of it.