A Place Called Home

By Kevin Shell and Donald Cantrell

This is the intimate, private, poetic journal of a man who was physically incarcerated and was also lost inside the wilderness of his soul. It is the story of secrets told, monsters fought, and love found. It is a tale told for those who have looked between the pages of the books that they have read for the other side of the words. It is a story that will only be understood by those who have looked into the mirror of their hearts, seen the inner and outer person that they are, and accepted themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490719184

Kevin Shell

K E V I N S H E L L grew up as a missionary’s kid in Asia from the age of four to nineteen. When he returned to the United States at that time, and for the next five years, he tried to assimilate into the American culture without success. Because of this, he fell into a deep depression during which he (and his now ex-wife) committed armed robbery, were captured, and sent to prison. During the ensuing fourteen continuous years of incarceration, he was forced to face himself and his need for the Almighty. This intimate, private, poetic journal is the record of the struggle, the days of light and darkness, the journey into the wilderness of the soul and the heart and the journey that continues . . .

Book preview

A Place Called Home

Now I look out on the dark land,

(Shadows bathed in shadows unto far from where I stand)

And night’s breath fades then rushes hard again,

And runs the miles down to places where I’ve been;

Home, where my little ones sleep,

Home, where my love runs deep,

A place called Home where my dreams keep;

Kept within my Sweetheart’s heart.

All my thoughts bear me off like that wind,

And old regret gnaws upon the wrongs I cannot mend.

A bonfire of pain,

Sparks borne aloft upon that wind like sharp, inverted rain;

Thoughts bound for Home, where my little ones sleep,

Home, where my love runs deep,

A place called Home, where my dreams keep;

Kept within my Sweetheart’s heart.

With weary eye I gaze upon the cheerless night,

Finding perfect equality between my heart and the lonely sight,

And the longing sigh within the breeze,

Has filled my mind and heart with these

tears I cry for Home, where my little ones sleep,

Home, where my love runs deep,

A place called Home, where my dreams keep

watch over my Sweetheart’s heart.

Yet I know,

That sunshine also warms the land wherever breezes go,

And I will stand to see that too,

My face warmed by sunshine, my heart warmed by you.

And however steeped in pain this night may be,

It will end and soon you will be with me;

At Home, where my little ones sleep,

Home, where my love runs deep,

A place called Home, where my dreams keep

watch over my Sweetheart’s heart.

Don’t Read This

Don’t read this…

For while you are here between pages one and two,

You must agree to say good bye to all you knew.

Stop reading if your life’s perspective is enough for you,

If you thoughts are happy with the old roads they travel through.

The wild lands that I see,

(Between the places others like to be)

Are not always easy lands to walk,

And words I hear not always easy talk.

But if you cannot help but come,

And sit around my fire awhile,

Don’t blame me if you hear the drum,

Beating far off in a different style,

Than all you’ve encountered so far;

As if it came from a different star..

Reanimation

Here, in this library

I stroll through a graveyard filled with poet’s bones.

some are not buried well

and wave at me with half-skeletal hands,

cheerful in the half-life.

I just know they rise at midnight

to have their cafe-macabre