Kingdom Come For Me

Is it the spring in your step when you’re running up the hill and you turn the corner?
Is it the warmth of the fire; safe from the thundering blizzards of outside?
Is it that cool caress to show you that you are not alone?
Is it the sound of an organ and choir?
Is it the sound of your knees dropping to the ground in contrition?
Is it found in her eyes?
Does anybody really ever find it?
Or is it elusive, Arthur’s grail; Prometheus’s wings?
Do we find it, or does it find us?.
Is this
Home?
I think not.
Home is contentment.
Home is feet up by a trickling pool.
Home is flowing poems.
Home is a girl sleeping on your pillow; content.
Home is the pitter-patter of ikkle feet and: “Daddy, Can you read to us?”.
Home is knowing where you stand.
Home is a beautiful woman at your side; feeling blessed to be there
Home is not her.
Home is not here.
Home is a promised land.
Home has meaning.
Home misses you when you’re not there.
Home is the puppy dog lapping at your heels.
Home is gentle rain dripping your anguish away.
Home is the round table.
Home is a strong maiden who loves you even when your shining armor rusts. Home is never a closed door
Home is always an open door.
Home is the chance worth taking.
Home is not here.
Home is cookies and milk after an arduous journey.
Home is the end of the journey.
And we’re at the beginning.
Home is not a place.
Home is an idea.
Home is an ideal.
Home is hope that one day we’ll find...

Home.