Where Does Home Live?

Out of the birdbox

Was when I left home

And I couldn't turn back nor could I sleep

It seemed there was not a soul alive as deep.

Too damp was the dew

So I had to move on, into new.

The first that I found was no place

Just a bridge to live under

But I could not settle where traffic lives.

I found a hole in the wall

Carved out in the past

I had made it my own until the walls became sand.

Everything returns to land

And so I was on my own again.

Among songs and spirit

Love and friendships

Good intentions don't warm the soul.

For emotions are too bright for logic to dim their knowing.

Loner, they cast me out.

"There is no place for you here."

They are no longer looking

So I keep moving along

The search becomes hunt

Haunt. Haunted with birth.

Must I keep going?

I just want to stop.

I just want to be home.

Where the richest of food and paper lives

I found my way inside

Exhausted by the work. Hard work!

It got me there. Still home was never near.

I knew that home felt like peace.

A taste of which I've yet to have but imagine.

Yes imagination I know I have.

Peace? What piece?

A deep exhale with no remorse.

Rain against the dirt where none enters.

A song that soothes with its recurrence and hums the shivers still.

Peace? Peace.

The easy fall away from sun into slumber.

Warmness from the wind, simply.

A memory. You know the one.

Music box take me home.

Peace? Peace. Peace.

What does stillness feel like?

Anxiety or peace?

What is the price of an active mind?

What is the price of peace?

Not young, I should have already found my home.

I have wandered and wondered.

Around me sits the spoils of investing so much time.

How do you get it back?

Where do you look when what you are searching for has not clearly been defined.

No absolution confirmed of it's very existence.

Then I know.

You make it. You have to.

For they, all of 'they' that we say, keep us from it.

Or earn it before we can.

Or that there is simply not enough to go around.

That is why we make more.

Out in the grass where green is queen.

Brown is king

And red and blue petals sit like gems on their crowns

There are secrets here.

Can you hear them?

Underneath every stone, a circus.

Inside every tree, a kingdom.

And the water falls everywhere it needs to.

It doesn't leave a soul dry.

Doesn't discriminate or dictate who earned it.

Oh and here comes that warm wind.

Father wind, father sky

Mother Gaia hold me tight.

Can you see it or are your eyes open?

Still, maybe you can see it.

You need to go inside to feel it.

Home never leaves.

Home is me.

Bring me home, home brings me.