I was bored and feeling a little pensive, so I wrote a poem.
Do we ever truly belong anywhere
Or, rather, is our life meant to be transient
filled only with passing shadows,
some who linger longer
while most fade into distant memories?
In the moment when we stop moving,
when we “settle down” as they say,
is that the moment we begin to truly live,
Or is that the moment when we begin to die?
What is home?
Is it a place, some large, imposing space?
Or is it something you can carry with you
Is it even a thing
Or can it be a moment, a memory, or even a person?
Is home a sail,
Or an anchor,
Does it carry onward to distant a new seas
Or does it keep us entrenched so deeply
that our rudders can no longer bear the weight of adventure
Is happiness a journey, or a destination
Once we’ve achieved enough, gained enough,
Then will we be happy?
Or, is joy there to be found in every moment,
even when “plenty” is a foreign word?
Does any of it even matter?
Or are we all just passing shadows,
passing through the world without leaving a trace