Home is the lie... that we deceive

Just past the shadows of my mind,

Where daylight fades, and darkness blinds.

Perfect memories of hearth and home...

...are confined within, but freely roam.

Scattered nightmares, oft plague my rest,

and host the fragile, ill addressed...

...though mutilated by the screams,

and mournful wails of shattered dreams.

Yet still, bold visions of home cascade,

Like a waterfall's flowing... serenade.

Splashing, down its soliloquy,

With nostalgic waves, of family.

So lay to rest... that which tests,

and speeds the heart to full arrest.

The contrary winds of your mind... set free,

Like a swaying, weeping willow tree.

Home is the lie... that we deceive,

As well as the construct, that we conceive.

Home is the melody we compose...

...the magnificent music that fuels our souls.