Where I Call HomeBy Sam Tumblin What do I really call home,Endless paths beneath the dome.One stop here,Many pauses disappear. Faces faded like dying flame,Different towns but all the same.I carried sorrow carved in bone,A drifting soul forever lone. Then I learned through life’s cruel tome,The only place I truly call homeIs beside silence overgrown—Next…

Time Fix: Through the Hourglass By Sam Tumblin Once in a blue moon my mind drifts far,Through fractured memories and rusted scars.Chaotic echoes endlessly replay,Like broken clocks that cannot find the day. I wished for time to bend like Doctor Who,A fading phone booth tearing darkness through.To drown my nightmares deep inside the stream,And silence…