Rescue Me.

What is the meaning of this plasticity? Why are we surrounded by such mockery of the truth? Where are the friends who would not leave and lovers who would not sway? Where are the moments of glory and the passion for honor? Where are the morals? Where is the sincerity of purpose?

Where is the love for beauty? Where is the love for words? Where is the passion for language? Where is the lust for adventure?

Rescue me from this insincere world. Rescue me from all these people who would make a mockery of my sincerity. Rescue me from the faithless who point and whisper, “God shall never forgive you, sinner!”

Rescue me from this plasticity, this façade, this folly. Take me instead to winter’s end, take me to where the Sun shines shamelessly on a river of gold, & where monotony doesn’t tire the soul. Take me instead to where friends are loyal, lovers passionate and God forgiving.

Take me, instead, to truth.

Home.

Home. That’s where I want to be. A place where I’m not ridiculed or demeaned; a place where what I say is heard and what I do is seen.
Home; a place where my heart is, where my soul is at peace.
But what is home? Out of all the millions of definitions that each one of us would give it, which one sticks as universal? What is this place where we all want to be, this place that we’re all searching for but can’t seem to find? Is it a place, a feeling, or a purpose maybe? Maybe it’s just a thought, an illusion that we’ve conjured up, a motivational tool for when the going gets too tough.
Does “home” even exist in this plane, in this universe? Maybe it is somewhere beyond; beyond reach, beyond imagination but never beyond hope.

Home is where I want to be right now; at peace with myself, at peace without.
Home is where I want to be.