Introspection

Below my surface I am a product of experience.

Days of nothing and everything, forever,

despite the suffering, agony and torment,

I have experienced profound joy, love,

feelings of utter content.

It is our parents who raise us

but our environment that allows us to grow up

and it is in this that we conceive of a home.

We tailor make our surroundings for our

own comfort and without this,

we are without direction.

It may well be on the nose,

though our home knows no bounds,

as soppy as it may be it is true.

You and I perceive of our own destinations

the same we we believe in a deity.

Faith is all but a construct that allows

our day to day reasoning.

Without home, where am I settled?

Without feeling settled, how can I be happy?

It is no physical manifest of four walls and a roof,

not even an actual tangible location other than

your own mind. Within myself I am content

for as long as I can decrypt my own meditations.

Otherwise we are lost, rogue even,

without an anchor to reality and thus

the beauty of human experience.

Home is where your heart is,

no, home IS your heart, your mind,

arguably your soul.

The place to which you recede in times

of stress, sadness, anguish.

We carry it with us, though not a burden

it is surely a task and so we spill

the contents of our soul onto our surroundings.

Art, souvenirs, pleasant memories manifest,

all to ease the pressure of carrying ourselves

wherever we go.

We spend forever in a day and no time at all

for the struggle against time is a very real one,

though with home at your door you are never

without the comfort of human experience.

Know yourself and you are always home.

Merely maintain a grasp on that knowledge

and you will never be without.

At home, you are the best of your own life.