What is home,

If not in your arms, love?

In your gentle embrace.

Do all the woes of my life vanish

Leaving behind only bliss

In their wake.

If home is where the heart is,

It’s not in my own.

For what value is the physical being,

When the spiritual feels so alone?

Enshrined and enclosed,

Within the walls,

But never did it once feel,

Like it’s my home, my very own,

Alas, in isolation on my own

Something semblant of peace,

Does, at least ring.

Home is where the heart is,

But what if their heart is not a home,

With themselves, oh pity!

They do...