Homelessness

Home is a dim, half remembered thought, 
Like a quest of old, by knights long sought.
That humanity, for an ideal, furiously fought.
Home only a dim and faded dream, 
Like leaves carried rapidly by a stream.
That bring to mind, memories, so serene.
Home a place to finally rest my weary feet, 
And under that old live oak, take a shady seat.
And at last, finally, once more feel complete.
Home is where my heart should be, 
I hope it went there, when I set it free.
I pray that it's there, wating for me.