Some say home is four walls, a roof above one’s head,
while others claim that family and those close to the heart
form a loving embrace, or home, instead,
and yet, I find all these definitions to be just the start.

When I think of home I find my mind reeling,
imaginary ghost-like fingers searching to find and hold on
to that special one-of-a-kind feeling,
the one defining the certain place where I belong.

Images eventually burst free like emerging butterflies,
plumes of colour, soaring sounds, and sensations ensue
as memories pour down like sweet cleansing rain from the skies,
followed by rainbows shining in every hue.

I can see it all suddenly and my lips curve into a smile
as these memories, places within myself, come alive and free,
whilst I’m taken back for a while,
and thrown the time-travel key . . .

. . . I feel my sister’s arm slung around me,
as we shout and sing into the ends of skipping-ropes,
our bodies trembling with excitement at the crowd only we can see
while our minds cloud with child-like dreams and hopes.

. . .The water and I are one, the pale blue glass a mirror,
and the silence just beneath is a place of inner peace,
where everything suddenly becomes so clear,
and all my fears and anticipations cease.

. . . The sun is pouring down beams of gold,
my mother next to me as we soak up the beauty of the day,
our hands locked together in a gentle hold,
as we sip back lemonade on the porch in May.

These memories all seem to mark where I belong,
The reality that home is not one single place,
But rather a state of mind that can be called upon,
one that is immortal and has not just one face.