feels like home is a myth,
a fog i try to shape into something firm.
some uninterpretable desire,
something i can't tame or even seek
without destroying something of myself first.
is a home with you,
is a home locked up in my heart
or public and open?
do i search for it, or does it find me,
does home sneak up on you when you settle
for something less than perfect?
feels like home is a myth,
one i can't dispel or disprove,
one i read again and again
till my eyes and soul are tired.