Finding Home
Winding down the road,
Anticipation in my steps,
Wind ruffling my hair,
As I face the silence, alone.
Thoughts and memories flooding,
The only place that I call home.
My mind, my shelter, my boundary,
The only thing I can call, "mine."
The only thing I can call "mine,"
Hides all my desires and fears,
All my passion, all my hatred,
All the overwhelming feelings.
Ideas race through my head,
As my mind consumes the knowledge.
My mind is truly my home,
A barrier of personality.
Though I must regretfully admit,
My home is somewhat lacking.
My one valuable belonging,
Fails to include a number of longings.
My mind cannot give me
The feelings that I long for.
Love, Friends, Happiness.
These things, my soul yearns to call my own.
And many a night I've thought of this.
And came to the conclusion.
To be loved, and to love, you must first have a home.
Period. No exceptions.
So on many a day, I travel the roads.
A desolate and lonely job.
And my blood fills with hope, my mind, reassured,
When I spy from afar, a small town.
And when I reach the small quiet place,
And I look down at it from my hill,
I shake my head,
And my stomach fills with disappointment.
"This is not the one"
And I grab my bread, and I grab my water,
And leave the small town forever.
Searching on end,
For a place, that will satisfy me.
Therefore you might see me,
Walking down a dusty road.
Pondering over the thought of a home,
And the greater feeling of love.