Home is a place I travel to only to rest my head in the bosom for a short time and then pack my bags all to soon for a new destination that will leave me wanting. A place where the eggs are fresh and warm and the chickens watch on in muted protest as I gather. It is a place that being alone does not exist but only in my mind. The sleepy cabins whisper stories in the night and the darkness is filled with light from the stars. And how those stars call to me, thunderous roars that beat against my ears until I am a servant unto their call once again. I can no more deny the fear hidden in the night than I could turn away from this intoxicating beat that sends life coursing through me.

Travel I must, the world calls to me in my dreams. The open road seduces me with the hum created by rubber as it melts against the hot tar baked by the suns intensity. Spreading my wings I enter the cavernous space of an airplane. My body cramped within the confines of assigned seating yet I soar with eagles as the tarmac fades away beneath me. The destination I seek is home but I like the coconut palm have shallow roots and find that the slightest wind topples my great hight when I stand too tall so I must ride the ocean waves towards ever new destinations in search of home

Through whimsy I ponder the lifetime of the great oak yet this pointless wandering of the mind pass quickly. Alas, I am but a traveler and never shall I know roots so deep. To seek nutriance in the rich soul can not feed the need for the unknown. The monotony offers no home to me. For only the struggle and strife endured from gathering limited sustenance in the ever shifting sands can I thrive.

With this knowledge bares a loathing for all that home grants me. The familiarity of walls constricting around my throat, crushing the pathway of life’s essence and yet soothing my mind in a numbness that will bring forth the euphoria of a home I will never travel from.


One thought on “Traveling Home

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