Where Is My Home?

When I return, where is my home?
Will it be found beneath tent of trees
or will that house be gone and I alone?
Can one come home once he leaves?
Perhaps the ghosts of past nights, past friends
will have long since come to their inevitable ends.

Surely the fog rolls with thunder-less roar,
breathable calm and humid relaxation in hand.
Will I find my friends on the expanse of shore,
or will they be buried in a timeless sand.
I fear to return from a world so distant
into old place of youth, now so different.

1 comment:

amy said...

home is here, we are here.
nice poem, but we are still here