Our first home is the womb,
The final one, a tomb.
Between, we seek a house
To shelter with a spouse.
But Anger comes to dwell
And brings Abuse from hell.
Together, they birth Hate
Whose hunger does not sate.
All hearth-filled dreams then fail
As home becomes a jail.
Our sins have made it clear
Our true home is not here.

(Photo by Hristo Fidanov)