a compass would tell of a tale,
that all men must cleave to a place.
in this race we run,
in search of peace that eases us to our rest,
where the heart leads us to the ends of the earth,
just to find where he is at.
I entered your forth and thought you knew me,
but I was a friend you just met.
I sought you for an abode,
but the house you gave me was no resting place.
I ate at your feast and tried to belong,
but you were a tongue that reminds me that I was a stranger.
in you I thought I found rest,
but you constantly leave me thirsty for a quiet you never had.
and to find peace is to find home,
for they say home is where…
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