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Poetry by Michael YapThe Inner World Collection
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Two quiet light fields held in one tactile room, separated by translucent fabric and generous negative space.

The Inner World Collection · curated edition

The Arms of Home

A quiet reading

About 2 minutes · 6 stanzas

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Maybe home is not a place, not walls, not a roof, but the space within Your embrace, where all that I am is held.

It is the warmth that flows when the world turns cold, the refuge that asks nothing of me, yet offers everything.

You welcome my best, celebrate my joy, and lift my light higher. But more than that, You hold my worst, without judgment, without fear.

In Your arms, I am not the sum of my successes or the weight of my failures. I am simply Yours whole, raw, infinite.

Maybe home is Your love, not bound by time or space, but felt in the way my soul exhales, knowing it is safe. It is not something I seek, but something I find in the stillness of Your presence, where I am fully seen, fully known.

And perhaps, home is not just what I receive, but what I offer back to You a heart open wide, saying, “Here I am. I am Yours. In Your embrace, I have found my home.”

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“Maybe home is not a place,
not walls, not a roof,
but the space within Your embrace,
where all that I am is held.”
The Arms of HomePoetry by Michael Yap
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Reading and edition context

This curated edition is shared as personal artistic expression, not medical, financial or relationship advice. Sacred names and traditions are approached with respectful poetic or devotional context.

Narration is off in this release.