Homesick for Heaven

He sat among the shadows deep,

In the corner in the bar,

And he looked weary in their sweep,

Like a man who wandered far.

 

His clothing was torn and tattered,

And thick dirt besmeared his face

Which was lined, and dark, and battered

And with tears his cheeks were traced.

 

“Old man,” said I, “where go you,

In such a cold night as this,

I pray this dark wind to blow you

To the place you surely miss.”

 

“The place I miss?” And he lifted

His sad eyes to look in mine,

“I have never been so gifted

To know for what place I pine.

 

“To find this place is all I seek,

Searched the hills far, high, and low.

Only one thought now follows me:

That the place I seek is Home.”

 

“What mean you, old man?” I said,

And passed a hand over my brow,

For this poor man would walk ’til dead,

If Home evaded him now.

 

“Have you no home, you wretched man,

Can I help you not at all?”

“No,” said the man. “For no one can

Show me for what my heart calls.

 

“‘Of course I had a place to stay

A place I grew up and old.

But now I go this weary way

For the place I call a Home.

 

“Home is a place for which I long

Yet where I have never been.

A place that makes this ache grow strong,

Yet my hope to know again.

 

But with each mile my sore legs go,

My heart has grown to believe,

Home lies nowhere in this whole world

For a place not here, I grieve.

 

“I wonder if I’ll ever find

The one place I swear I knew,

Or if this road will ever wind,

To show what I seek is true.

 

I can’t help but go, go on,

Although ache is all I feel,

For would I know there is a Home

If Home wasn’t truly real?