Poem: My Home, My Retreat
When I want to be alone.
It's name is Welsh: Dol Felin,
But I just call it home.
An apartment in a coloured block,
The middle one of three,
It's not that big at just three rooms,
But that's enough for me.
Outside is blue, Inside is white,
With wooden floors as well,
Just a bedroom, lounge/diner, bathroom,
Is the sum of my neat cell.
It's furnishings are simple,
Taken from a swedish store,
Except the bed, which is a luxury,
As from my dreams I wanted more.
In bed, I lie, through Winter,
With the window opened wide,
Where I listen to the sound of rain,
As it hammers down outside.
But in Summer it's the balcony,
With it's railings painted black.
Where I lay to bask in Sol's roasting rays,
Till the Sunburn stripes my back.
My kitchen, if you can call it that, is tiny,
Just a double hob, and sink,
Yet there I've cooked some marvels!
(Or so I like to think!!)
It's a simple life I've come to,
Living here on my own,
This flat could be my kingdom,
With my sofa there, my throne.
Yet still there's something missing,
It's been absent from the start,
For when I moved here from afar,
I left behind my heart.
My home is my cage, my prison cell.
Like a hermit, I've locked myself away.
Captured myself in my own mistakes,
Imprisoned by yesterday.
One day I'll find the exit,
One day I'll find true love,
But till that day, I'll sit here caged,
Like a fettered, flightless dove.
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