We long, at last, to be back home:
 to travel through that open door
 that leads us past familiar walls,
 the foyer of our memories --
 the hallways of a life ahead --
 this is our final, last disease:
 to see the lights come on, outside,
 and know it's time to finally

 go home

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

One thought on “homesick”

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