Home...

Some men need thousands of square feet
To feel comfortable and at home;
Placing items of assumed importance
In corners where mere shadows roam;
Periodically rearranging or replacing
The collective goods, all on loan.

Space is not the final frontier
As some have presumed.
Space is a simple place
Where individuality has room;
Peaceful tranquility awaiting
In humble surroundings not perfumed.

Give me a good tent
Over a castle any day,
Where dreams and ideas run free
And guards don’t scare them away;
Vulnerable to dangerous elements, yes
But not over-sheltered and imprisoned
To view all the ways in which one is blessed.

If home is where the heart is
Then where is a man’s home
If his heart has gone astray?
Many with an address
And a large room to daily lay
Have not seen nor heard from lately
Their heart’s real longing and decay.

Ceilings don’t provide
The much needed view
Of the sky above us
And potential of all things new,
Where the damaged heart can heal
In the patina of a full moon.

Perhaps we’re not supposed to rest
In just the square footage of one place,
Limiting our experience of home
To where we hide from the fast pace.
Perhaps home can be the collection
Of many a tranquil space,
Where the company of others we embrace.

A true home is where
The entrance is always unbolted
And honest conversation is welcomed;
A book, a fire, and wisdom is valued
By the familiar and uninvited;
Always open to the friendly gesture
That a real home, no matter its make
Is meant to be lived in and out of,
...Especially when held down by a tent stake.

~2011 Vaughn Wood