Years ago, I lived in a place called home;
It was filled with laughter and full of life.
Love was the door to our happiness,
and trust was our dome.
I remember my brothers;
the ones who grew up with me,
The ones who made me complete.
They knew nothing but to love and care.
Time passed by, altering everything on its way.
Now I live in white blocks, concealed from this world.
The walls are plain, with only a memory on the wall.
I have everything to live, yet I am empty;
I have money, still I am poor,
I have love but still I am despised,
I have freedom, yet I am a prisoner.
I have lights yet I live in darkness;
I have friends still I am lonely,
I am healthy yet I feel sick.
Sick of people fighting,
Sick from no love,
Sick of this blinding darkness.
I can always find a house, but never a home.