I wrote this poem a few days ago, although I still can't think of a good title that's not too cheesy. It's really the only poem I've ever written, so try not to be too judgmental.
My soul is here
gone astray.
My heart holds fear,
lost the way.
Home is a memory,
a time with friends-
long gone.
The past.
Memories
can take us back.
They are real,
and not.
Can it be found again?
Will we forget
what it once was?
Its old meaning?
It has been said
to live now-
but why?
Home is gone.
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