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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2216487
A home, though...
It's gone then it's
back again.
It's either we don't see it
or we see it too much that we
come blind to what it
can be.

Opportunities is just a longer word for potential,
and it's a potential that the shelter is there.
It disappears from the rust encrusting it,
the bread which appears to now be
unappealing.

We walk the shelter
sitting by it as we dare, we never think of its value
until we must go there.

Fill our sights with the glee
that used to be there,
find what is missing, for what can be there.

It's a charming little dragon
that stays in place, burning the walls around it,
but the others don't care.
What treasures inside, no one knows
Take it for granted it's not something
we find and call fine.

Some might know it's much more than that,
call it whatever,
but it's a home for sure.
Does it disappear? Perhaps it does.
We find it here one day,
gone the next,
but appearing the way each of us
see it.
That's when we think we see it
but we don't.

We see, but not it.

It appears with the flick of a switch
and blends in with the air,
it seems with a blink of an eye.
We keep telling ourselves this,
it never moves.

But what is it?
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