On Coming Home


Coming back home, I sought to find love and found none.

I wished for hopes and desires and hearts to atone.

Instead I found pain and my body slept alone.

Coming back home, I knew my past life was gone.

Coming back home, I looked for warm, friendly faces.

I had to feel welcome in comforting places.

Yet, nothing remained, not one brick, nor the traces

Of gardens of roses and sun - favoured terraces.

Coming back home, I sadly glanced at the small house

That used to be ours where I once hung my blue blouse.

I laughed when you said bravely: "I think there's a mouse."

Such memories and pain coming home did arouse.

Coming back home, I thought I'd find good in the man.

I stopped by the altar where it all once began.

Over there, isn't that where you started the plan

To keep me from wanting to return home again ?

Coming back home, I cried for the joys of the past.

I dropped by your new life and my tears shed too fast.

I lay deep in your arms, but, the warmth wouldn't last

Coming back home was all gone. My fate so was cast.

On the Question of Coming Back Home

Coming back home, is it really home that I fear?

Or is it the knowledge, I am not welcome there ?

Will I find no more love or a soul that will share

A warm heart, a real home, a true friend or a care ?


Amy Riberdy

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is something I must eventually face.

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