There's something here that's not always seen.
My reason to believe is embedded in me.
My gums are these streets, making these buildings my teeth.
Founded on a date that I can't help but remember.
It's so paternal to clamber through this mountainous web that you've weaved;
un-constricting and inviting of a return (shameless if need be)
when feeling through dark halls of supposed opportunity.
Behind endless doors not at all like the one held open.
There's nothing quite like the door held open.
And if I end up losing everything before everything loses me,
at least it will be in succession, by the wake of those who would kill to have no home.
A western base is a mark and the opposing peak is a goal.
Without a map, a compass for a heart and the mountains surrounding me,
lead a man to believe that in between we are sitting so pretty.
Comfortable in our occupancy.
We are attempting to be somewhere inside of shapes and lines.
I am calling out for a place to call home, out for a place to call my own.
I can't fathom why to leave.