No Longer Home

This is home. 

My safe haven. 

My quiet place. 

No one can take that away from me.

It's everywhere I go. 

My senses come alive everytime I step outside. 

The smell of fresh, blooming flowers hit my nose as the wind blows,

Allowing it to sway this way and that way.

I enjoy watching the birds and bees sore and land on trees. 

The trees where I pick fresh fruit from.

The taste is like no other.

This sight of children and their shrilling screams as they kick the balls and run through sprinklers.

Everything here shows me that childhood isn't dead. 

But alive like everything else around me.

This is home.

My safe haven.

My quiet place. 

But it's being destroyed by the reckless actions of others.

The air we breath has been contaminated by the smoke captivating our lungs. 

My fresh fruit trees are quickly being cut down for wealth and greed. 

Is this really what we need?  

To take away the flowers that I once picked for my mother to make her smile from the thought of her child?

To take away the same bushes and trees that kids used to play hide and seek?

I guess we'll never understand.