Homeless

The trouble of life is in desire
The lust for fulfillment
The hope of magnificence
The longing for an eternal security
The antics we accept in pursuit
A guilty conscience breeds
The falsity of mirrors we believe
We fall short of significance
Or so we’re deceived
Consumed, futile actions we carry
Lost in the depths of our soul
Oh where is confusion’s end?
What is worthy anymore?
What is true in life?
For it has made me a rat by the desire of it
I am homesick for I have no home.

Homeless.

At 5:30 am I saw a homeless man as I was deactivating the security alarms. He was sleeping on a bench on the church grounds. I am supposed to kick him out. But I found myself staring at him for ten minutes as he slept. Tears streamed my face. I gently woke him and asked him to leave. I went back to the apartment and looked at my bed as I normally try to get another hour or two of shut-eye. I crept to the ground instead and there remained awake. I wrote this as I thought about what I had just done, and how he must feel about life. But as I now read this poem of sorts, meant to be about how this homeless man must feel, I am convicted of the same desires. Where is home? Or do we walk this earth whith nowhere to lay our heads?