Where The Heart Is

“Like a palace”, they’ve called it with
Sun shining upon it. On the
Outside it glows. On the inside
It glooms. Cell blocks instead of rooms;
Residential luxury prison.
A sturdy roof, some windows
Here, there some doors and staircases
Leading each to their own exile.

Bedroom sanctuaries keep them
Sane – asylum in their own worlds
Yet their walls become craftsman’s glue
Holding each steady, reeling them
In from rougher waters outside.

Each with their own stories to scream,
The farther away from home they
Stray the wider a four cornered
Web they weave and find this home the
Center of it: the home, where they
Sleep like fish in their own caves. The
Home, where without the walls of their
Bedrooms binding them together
They would be nothing with no one.

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About Margaret Wang

In this crazy World, if we have something to say we should say it; whether in word, song, dance or paint. As writers, we write what we must, what we see, what we feel and what others experience but cannot articulate or understand. This is the duty and power of the writer; to release into the world our visions and our passions as if bleeding dry. Here at Stuck Pig I give you my word and hope that my voice reaches like minds so they know they are not alone, and unlike minds so they may share my glasses for a day. This is life lived as me, digested by me and translated for anyone caring to step out of their shoes for a few paragraph’s length. I am vulnerable and opinionated. You may judge me justly or unjustly, as I judge the rest of the world. I invite you to view Life through my window. View all posts by Margaret Wang

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