Time without pain
And I keep asking myself:
What is home?
Place, time, feeling?
Touch of the flesh in a body,
Presence of significant,
Presence of yourself to yourself?
Does it equal to belonging?
Equal to there being some
ultimate meaning?
Is home the history of your trails
With all the people tangled within them,
The crossroads of the souls that have touched your soul,
So that you remembered having a soul?
Or perhaps,
home is all these things;
Home is where you remember
Home is the time there was
Without pain.
More and more distant
As the pain is molded in your body
As it would be shaped in it
And there is home no more
For lost souls