I’m sitting in a railway station
Got a ticket for my destination…
Where is his home?
That’s not the question.
Home is just a state of mind
And not a destination.
Home is upstairs at Grandma’s
Where on summer night’s rain would clatter
And crickets sang the whole night through
When restful sleep was all that mattered.
But Grandma’s been gone nearly 20 years.
Those peaceful nights replaced.
A stranger in her house does live
Rich memories cannot be traced.
Home is the warmth of mother’s kitchen
Where fragrances abound.
Sweet ‘tater biscuits and beans and cakes
Fried chicken in stately mounds.
But his mother cooking days are done.
In her new home she cooks no more.
Industrial food from large tin pots
And a staff that tends to bore.
Home is where children always collect
As with dogs and tails fiercely wagging.
Where comfy chairs and warming drinks
Rescue and restore the spirits lagging.
But the drudge of life and other tasks
Beset his time around.
Darkness and warmed up meals
And a house without a sound.
Home is where the heart is
A plaque by the door proclaims.
Houses and people may come and go
While memories still remain.
But memories hurt, their impact great
And sometimes bring haunting pain.
But warm memories of home can fill the heart
And keep the man somewhat sane.
I wish I was homeward bound.
Home, where my thought’s escaping,
Home, where my music’s playing
Home, where my love lies waiting…
Silently for me.