9/4/03
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| This Is My Home 9/4/03 |
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| Blue light and an open window; this is my world, a world of darkness. Flickering light and a forgotten open window to an outside world none of us now remember. This is my world. Ignore the past and fade away into these walls, let the concrete heaven soak up your memories. Oh, did you hear a scream? Don't let the past catch you, the past is no longer pleased. Voices, listen to the voices. They will advise you the right path to take. Let the experienced give you a path. This is my home, this is my home. A black stage with actors who have not yet learned their lines, this is my home. A mess of people, a mess of emotions. Erie silence in which we wait. The call beckons us, pulls us in. We are all preformers on this stage of life. We are a family, and this is our home. This dark, twisting playground where we run free. Yes, yes. This is my home. So I create words with my thoughts by this glowing blue light, and I look up to the open window so I may sneak a look at the outside world I have forgotten. This is my home, this is my home. | ||||||
| Standing on the Tip of My Tongue Home |
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