Homeless

I never had to think about it,
back in sweet youth, though I held it fast.
I was forever home and knew it.
I thought that feeling would always last.

At fragile thirteen when I came back,
giving up dreams of religious zeal,
that feeling was gone, missing and spent,
along with feelings of being "real."

Through the many years and loves and lives,
at each turn when I had settled down,
I did my best just to recreate
that blessed, sweet home I once had found.

My quest that started out as holy,
has left but gray ashes on my tongue,
as I recall each and every all
of the sweet songs I have never sung.

Now in each long night's bitter vigil
I know truth that does not set me free.
I am nothing but a wanderer
and a wanderer is all I'll ever be...