PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

What does it really mean to be home?

Is it when we are out of harms way?

When your mind is at ease and stress free?

When the screaming, both the physical and the mental, stop?

The better question to ask is this: Did I ever truly come home?

Am I really here? All of me?

What did I leave behind out in this bright cruel world? What did I manage to keep?

How does one continue on after they are no longer whole?

Does the inner clockwork of the soul just sit there, forever rotating pointlessly, hoping to achieve some makeshift result?

Or do the gears simply grind to a standstill, eroding due to there pointless efforts?

Once I've lost enough, can I still call myself a man?

Hell, was I ever one to begin with?

Have I always been this empty? Have I always been so morose?

Or were my gears faulty? My workings flawed and fragile?

And how is it that amidst the catastrophic failures and broken mechanisims, life can simply go on? 

Is there not supposed to be some form succor? Some place to repair our broken gears?

How does a faulty machine still operate as though there is nothing amiss?

Do the struggles ever get resolved? Or do they just become more words for another mans stories?