Finding Home
By John Herlihy

I see revelation arriving quietly at my front door;
I put down my pen, no longer to worry any more.
Worries feel like butterflies; fear a heavy drone,
Now my heart’s contentment feels like coming home.
How I travelled long years searching for an answer,
Asking frivolous questions that only turned into banter.
How I yearned for a friend who would show me the way,
Beyond the distant horizon with a message to convey.
Is home a place, a secret, a mystery, an emotion inside,
Or a house with seven gables with a door opened wide?

People say home is where you find it, either here or there;
Others prefer a fixed abode without a single nail to spare.
I myself have never had a home, living in solitary rooms,
Adapting to languages and cultures that use stick brooms.
Who could imagine I would see the light of an open door,
Shining down from heaven with grace and so much more.
Every day reveals a poem; every moment a budding bloom;
Every thought but a human miracle that disperses my gloom.
I am old but I am happy, what more could anyone ask for;
You cannot find home if you have not lost it, that’s for sure.