The Homeland is Elsewhere

It is a longing

Growing deeply

Ever intense

Subtle sighing of the soul

Reminds the traveler

Where he is going

The dark canyons and

Sudden cliffs seem endless

The shadowed valleys and

Dreary fogged lands stretch out

Seemingly forever

And weariness may linger

Bruises may form

Blisters will scab

And wounds – of battles –

Foreign battles in a foreign land

Ache as only man’s flesh aches

But the traveler moves on

Waiting and watching for that sudden rise

For the swift glory of majestic mountains

For a valley of golden light

For the burning longing testifies to it

The longing that was tucked away in his soul

Since his first birth

And awakened and kindled in his second birth

That knowledge spurs

The traveler on towards

The unseen, yet known land

He has been a foreigner

Wandering aimfully

In this dry and thirsty land

All his life

But it wasn’t until his second birth

That he understood

That his homeland was elsewhere

He was not a native-son

And even now, he walks

Through the darkest passage yet

His man-heart trembles

But the Friend who has reawakened

The longing

Is with him

And the traveler is strengthened

For he is nearing

The place that

Odes

And poems

And songs

Have memorialized

Yet failed to represent

A place of returning

A haven of welcoming

A going home

And The Shadow passes

And the traveler with a final step

Leaves behind the foreign land

The land of vultures

And before his hungry eyes

He sees a valley ever wide

Rising up through forested trees

To mountains of unseeable heighth

And the golden light of an eternal dawn

Breaks through the groves and meadows

Gilding the wings of soaring eagles

And haloing a dwelling

And to this dwelling

The traveler’s eyes are drawn

His world-weary eyes are satisfied

And the longing wells

In his soul like tears of the ocean

The doors are all flung open

The windows all a-jar

For him

Welcoming

Beckoning

And with a swiftness

Of a renewed soul

The traveler nears the house

And the darkness

Of the former lands

Are forgotten

The worries and cares

Are erased

His memory

Is only for this dwelling

In the celestial valley

How often his soul

Dreamed of this place

How often his Friend

Would whisper to him

Of its beauty and peace

And before the grand house he comes

With no fear of rejection

Nor hesitation in his mind

But as a son coming home

To those who love him

And think of him by day

And by night

And he enters

And the welcome

Is a fulfillment of all hope

That was ever hoped

And he is embraced

By those who have longed

For his arrival

And the celebration is sweet

And his wounds are dressed

By the Faithful Friend

The Balm of Gilead

Eases the pain

And blisters heal

And the bruises disappear

And the traveler’s dusty

Dirty

Ripped

Blood-stained

Garments are exchanged

For the white raiment

Of the Household

And the son

Sees familiarity everywhere

There is nothing unknown

Every crevice in the house

Comes into focus

As if from a dream

From a recollection imprinted

On his heart

And the longing

Once burning, hurting

Is now

Satisfied and redeemed

And it rests as a quiet song

In the son’s heart

A hymn of salvation