Uh... i have good friends here in my city cage, but it's not my ocean front home....

I sit here longing for my ocean home, locked up in a mountious city cage.

The wind whips across my face, but no salt taints it, just dirt and pollution.

The trees whisper and lean, but ot up to sun, Exalting god for it’s warmth, the cry and lean in the harsh winds.

The birds fly and call a good morning, but they do it in a symphony with cars and people, Not with the other animals and the ocean’s crashing waves.

The squirrels twitter in aggravation from the food and shelter shortage, not in a happy greeting, asking if you have any peanuts.

The people here grumble and hate you because you wear a certain color, or because of where your parents came from. The people there get to know you then dislike you if they don’t like your personality.

Why is my home so far away? Why is my home slowly becoming this place?

So as i sit here, longing from my ocean home, locked up in a mountious city cage, i under stand that home is where you make it, and what you make of it...