Going Home

They say home is where you hang your hat

Home is a place that

You go to when you’re feeling lost

And because of that….

All I wanna do is go home

Home….to which I’ve never been….

A home that I’ve never seen….nor heard nor touched

But a place where I finally belong

If home is where the heart is

Then what about the heartless?

Do they have no place which they can call home?

Or what about those who are broken hearted?

Does that mean they, too, have no place?

Their home shattered by their own intention and will?

Or the cold hearted

Is their home frozen over

Possibly cracking slowly under its own weight?

Home is where you make it?

So does that mean I’m not…as crafty as I thought?

Home is where you’re surrounded by those who care about you?

So what if there’s no one there who can care?

Where is home?

Is there no place for the invisible?

Are we all to busy looking at the forest to care about the trees which make it up?

Home is where you’re most alive…?

So what if you’re truly dead inside?

Home is where you’re warmest?

So what if you’re always cold…? All the time…?

Home welcomes you with open arms….

But what if you’re a child with no family…no friends….?

What if you have no one to welcome you

To this place you like to call home?

Home is not on this planet you see….

Home is above us….but it surrounds us every day…

Home is not a place….it is strictly state of mind

And so I say to you all tonight

Welcome home…forever and always…