I live in this place, not my own.
its the only home I’ve ever known,
it owns the memory of me grown.
it shall see the seeds that I’ve sown.
I digress, this place is not a home,
it is the where I rest when troubles come.
it may not seem like much to some,
I’ve grown to love it during my time.
it has seen storms and endless calm.
it bears the mark of my silent psalms.
of the time I was under the soldiers Palm.
And the sweet allure of my mother’s charm.