You can't go home again,
For home as you
Remember it
Does not exist.
It is a dream.
A shattered piece
Of stained glass;
Whose colors run
Amok, never more
To adhere in
Coalescent beauty.
You can go home again
If home is in
Your mind.
The place you first
Learned right from wrong
And how to live
With love, compassion
And the certainty
That you are
Valued and cherished,
One with the universe.
You must go home again
If only metaphorically
To meet that dream
Of yesteryear;
To see through
Shattered colors strewn
To find the light
To meet your need
To know the way
To walk along
Your path today.
© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.
12 comments:
wow!
Seems to be the home of
Snow White and the seven dwarfs!
Jacob,
This is really beautiful. A man of many talents.
I am in the home I was born and raised in. Although I'm "home", it's just not the same...
Best,
Nancy
Wonderful.
This lovely house, Jacob, and your wonderful piece of poetry indicates to me your great life experience.
And inspired me to:
Sometimes -
In our dreams and thaughts,
We are searching
A home away from home.
Timeless -
Is the place and people,
all of us we loved.
This exactly what we need.
Juergen
Ah Juergen...you are so talented and know just the right things to say. Your poetry captures beautifully the essence of my poem, too.
Thank you, and I hope all is well and that you have a wonderful week ahead!
Wonderful !
So nice surprise this blog!
Léia
Magnificent !!!
Oh! This house and the garden is wonderful! Beautiful and full of atmosphere photo!
What a lovely cottage and a beautiful poem. I'm new to your blog, today I'm surfing around visiting new blogs and came upon yours...I love you dog in your header..my heart melts when I see a furry face!! Take care, I'll stop in again! :-))
This is an amazing poem. Very touching and really makes you think.
Oh, yes, I do like!
What a lovely cottage and moving poem.
The wooden house where I was born and raised doesn’t exist now. It was transformed into a reinforced -concrete condo by my brother but wherever my mother is my home where I go back. I regularly go to see my 92-year-old mother almost once a week to help around her independence. I inherited spiritual patrimony from her who loved me the way I was with her late husband.
Nowadays I’m so pleased to see motherhood in my daughter when she takes care of her baby patiently and affectionately. Growing is a series of farewell, from mother’s comfortable womb, from bosom, from arms, and finally from home. But we are never separated.
Have a nice week ahead, Lowell.
Yoko
Yoko
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