by Joseph Simone
Home means nothing when you’ve never left it
Home only takes shape when there’s a measure of distance far beyond you can walk
Between you and its comforts
Home is a place where time stops
It’s the still photo that you can judge how much life changes
The world moves so fast
But Home is the anchor that we can latch onto
When the tepid waters of unmindfulness sting our bare feet
You adapt to your environment
You can only truly judge how changed you are by your home
And it doesn’t matter where it moves, who leaves it, or if its comfort fades
Home is home, and you’ll know where you find it
When your heart is at rest
When ancient thoughts creep back into your conscience
When family or friendship call you back
It’s the trumpet in the charge
In a sea of obscurity and uncertainty it tells you what you must do
To charge on but to look back when you need to
Home is a time to stop and reflect on how much has changed
The home may not be warm, it may be empty
But it should give you a piece of your soul you’ve lost on your travels
Home is where you go when the 7 is under construction at 1 am on a Thursday night
Home is where you’ve been raised
It’s the place that dictates if you say coffee or cawfee
Home is why I say soda instead of pop
Home is why I’m plenty happy being the dot of eggshell
On a wall of earthen tones
Maybe you’ve found a new home in the hearth of your friend’s fire
Maybe you never found a “where” to migrate back to
Then let it be wherever you call back to take a resting slumber
Home has meaning now, and it calls back to you just when you’ve left it
