This is Home

Ash to ash,

Dust to dust,

Now I lay this body to rest,

Among stardust and forgotten ancients,

This is home,

Built of flesh,

Housed in skin,

Driven by spirit,

Powered by dreams,

Broken by pain,

Divided by creed,

Categorized by government,

This is home,

Me,

This caravan of self,

Moving along a path called life,

It has no address,

Saved by a name,

The name, my parents gave me;

And during the living moments,

This home resides in a building,

A house we equate as a home,

But true home is me,

There is no other like this,

Home for a child,

Grown old through time,

And in its twilight years,

To be surrendered to its creators,

This is home,

Some called it ugly,

Short, over weight,

Dark, light, round,

Square or long,

And maybe cute,

It has felt pain,

Felt love, tasted bitterness,

Cherish sweetness,

Been bent by sadness,

Ever changing,

Year by year,

Never the same,

A home in constant remodeling,

This is home,

Me,

This is home,

This body before you,

This person that stands before you,

This is home,

And from here to you,

Other homes,

We are caravans,

Travelling along this road,

We call life, we are home.

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There was that Moment.

There was that Moment.
by Maclean Patrick

There was that moment,
A minute captured in a second,
A breath bottled in a thought,
A light that formed a beacon,

It was that moment,
A step in between the strides,
A glance in a gap between the smiles,
The one you could not hide,

Then it was that moment,
A word caught in phrase,
Among saying and forgetting,
Spoken to leave lovers in a daze,

There was that moment,
Where dreams were more reality,
A moment beyond a touch,
And love was never a fantasy.

Words to the Reaper

Words to the Reaper
by Maclean Patrick

Death is a friend,
He leans over when I stood alone,
That time at the beach, looking out to sea,
“Do you see the sunset?” Death asked;

“It’s the same everyday,” I replied,
Death smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder,
“True.”
Death smiles, a smile like that on a kabuki mask;

“You’re too depressive,” Death points out,
“The sun will set each day, the sun will rise,”
“You may see it, you may not,”
“But every sunset is different, every time;”

Depressive?
Look who’s talking, I entertain the thought;
“Easy for you to say. You’re not worried about dying,”
“True,” Death remarks, “Depends which side you stand on the line.”

“Line?”
“The line of life or death.”
“Why is that important?”
“Where you stand will determine how you live.”

Death rubs my back,
It’s an icy touch yet sublimely warm,
“Choose how you want to live, to live to die or die to live?”
“My friend, you can always choose what you need to believe…”

A Pin For Your Roses

A Pin For Your Roses
by Maclean Patrick

There’s a voice,
Whispers in the space called silence,
There’s a whisper,
A smiling ache in loud slices,

There’s a time,
A clock turns to the right,
There’s a moment,
A muffled cry in darkest night,

Here’s a pin,
For the rose cuddled on your dress,
Here’s a kiss,
For the one; in pinkish dress,

Goodnight to you,
I wish you well, wish you safe,
Goodbye for now,
Thank you, for memories you gave,

Goodbye…