A land far behind?

Filled with park swings,

Laughter not filtered by the pains of life.

A place demolished?

Taken down by the beatings of my destruction,

Not allowing light to shine through the remains.

Behind the walls of brick?

That holds the objects emotions now surround,

Rooms filled with my mind’s dappling courtesies.

Perhaps, in another?

Through the chambers of their heart,

Through the labyrinth of their blood.

Is it waiting?

Something I haven’t met yet,

Don’t have the knowledge of its warmth.

Or maybe, it is the Earth

The forests of which my feet strike when I run,

Connected completely back to where I came.

Perhaps home is nowhere

Something that flows through the wind,

Allowing each person to inhale its comfort every once in a while.

In truth I think,

It is forgotten.

Lost somewhere,

From the years of trying to run from it.

Scared of the comfort,

And vulnerability,

Of Youth.

Home is yourself,

Past, present, and future.