Poem: Once It Was Home

Once It Was Home

It will not, again,
be possible
for me to return
to that place,
to those rooms:
they will be locked,
gone from the map
of places I may go.
I cannot return again,
am too far 
and will not be there
until it is too late,
until the key is turned
by a stranger's hand.
It is not gone yet,
but I can do nothing,
am forever away,
am never to go there,
except in memories
of what can no longer be.

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