What is a Home

Home is no place I've lived nor group I call my own.

No creaking stairs or smell of old books,

Nor children laughing or smells wafting through the many nooks.

Home is a state within, found within mine own mind.

Sometimes home has been where I felt most alone.

Home and hearth have never been, things I call my own.

Sometimes I feel most at home when I wander but do not find.

Sometimes I feel most alone amidst mine own mind.

A home can be a person, and mine may be so too.

But family is not a people I share any relation to.

Family is a state within, I share with all too few.

A state of mind, found within, of peace and gentle song.

Like listening to the heart-beat of the universe,

and humming along.

A vibrancy I often seek, when I find myself alone.

Longing to feel once more, like I have found my home.

Home is found everywhere, that I forget to look.

Where passion meets purpose on the precipice of creation,

where the comfort of apathy gives way to projects undertaken.

Home lies in the simple act, the laying of foundation.

The place between finality, and passing inspiration.

Home is found in all the pages, of my unwritten verse.