What is home?

Is it concrete or does it breath
Is it covered in brick or does it speak
What is a place they call home they say
Trying to scavenge what’s left of a memory
Hopeless enough we come to realize
Home isn’t anything without a price
Home isn’t walls that try to comfort and it doesn’t speak to us unless we remember
What is a home to this day
Is it a place we seek or is it on display
Someone to lean or somewhere to stay
Home is a question in many ways but my home lays upon the coldness of my feet covered up in sweet vanilla heat
Is it just a memory?
Somewhere to loathe, someone to seek
Home doesn’t have walls and home will not comfort
Home is just a place where we feel better.