Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Home is in the heart, where it starts no one knows.
It doesn't roam with the wind or change with the name that you claim.
It may not be the raising place or the
familiar face greeting you day to day.
Independence or dependence does not hold it's reflection.
Cosy cottage on a sea of glass tranquility.
You're eighteen and free to search and roam
through fits of endless restlessness.
Choices, choices- the car, the plane, the train taking you away.
Still no peace, right or wrong, still no release.
Try a change, seize the day,
Still the chains tie you to the earth.
Joyous pain, hope and hurt again. Run away, run away.
Yet, where it ends is plain, the way clearly marked.
With all the the heart survives
It still never comes home until it dies.